The Silent Banker
by Little Box Of Secrets
Summary: Sequel to "Silencing a Brother" A graffitied bank, a dead bank man and Sherlock wants to hack her laptop. What has Rose Spencer gotten herself into this time?
1. Chapter 1

**AN**** - Wow my first ever AN… anyway, I had a brilliant surprise when I woke up the morning after uploading the first three stories and found that people were actually reading them, and I had messages from people wanting more. I am going to try and do the whole of series 1&2 from the TV show, as well as maybe a couple of one shots and extras and things. I will try to update as much as I can. Though it may slow down after this week, it's school holiday's at the moment, but reviews are motivation!**

**Anyway, keep reading! **

**Enjoy! =]**

**Summary**

**Sequel to "Silencing a Brother"**

**A graffitied bank, a dead bank man, and Sherlock wants to hack her laptop. What has Rose Spencer gotten herself into this time?**

_**Warnings : Will contain foul language, gore and violence, and insinuations.**_

**The Silent Banker**

_Silence At The Start_

Rose Spencer entered her flat, carrying three Tesco's bags in one hand, and four in the other.

She had been living at 221B Baker street for a grand total of two weeks now, and they have been the most insane - and admittedly, least boring - weeks of her entire life. She had helped catch - _or kill _- a serial killer, been kidnapped, been unsuccessfully bribed, had argued with her new flatmate, argued with her brother, found a _pickled human heart _in the cupboard, and a _severed human head _in the fridge.

On top of all that, she had been woken up countless times in the middle of the night by violin playing - she didn't know what to think about that, she liked the music, but at the same time it disturbed her sleep - as well as having found many different body parts dotted around the kitchen - which was more of a science lab that held food - some of them human, some of them not. She was used to it now though, even if she was starting to question her sanity. _Only starting to? _Said a small voice.

As she went into the kitchen / home made lab, she noticed a large scratch on the table. Frowning she put down the shopping and went to take a closer look, running a finger lightly over it, noting the small amount of wood dust that stuck to her finger. _Fresh. _The slice was clean_, so a blade, then. _It was too large and deep to be a regular knife, but the only other thing she could think of was a sword. _But who was a sword nowadays? And why destroy the kitchen table with it?_

Deciding it was one of those things that if she need to know, someone would tell her _- hopefully - _she started putting away the shopping. After that was done, she made herself a cup of hot chocolate, and Sherlock a cup of coffee, as she had noticed him sitting in the living room and that he looked like he hadn't moved in a long while.

Taking the steaming beverages into the next room, she put Sherlock's on the small table next to him.

"Have you even moved since I went out?" She asked him.

That one question seemed to wake him up. He blinked slowly, shifting in his seat, but as he did, his feet pushed something under the chair, _very conspicuously, _she noted. It looked like the handle to a sword.

Seeing this, she sighed and shook her head. Noting this change in her demeanour, he looked up at her, raising one eyebrow. In a silent reply, letting him know that she now had some form of idea of what he had been up to while she was out, she raised an eyebrow of her own.

Their silent conversation was interrupted however, as John entered the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of orange juice, and going to sit in the chair opposite Sherlock. Even though he had fresh clothes on, his hair was a mess, and they determined that he had only just gotten up. As he sank into the chair, Sherlock went to the table, and opened a laptop, while Rose went to sit on the sofa, drinking her drink, thinking about how best to spend her day.

John, picking up and opening some envelopes addressed to him, let out a long sigh. Rose looked up as he spoke, and a splash of cold reality hit her.

"I need to get a job." He had said.

She let out an almost identical sigh, and replied. "Me too."

As could have been predicted, Sherlock didn't even look up from the laptop screen as he proclaimed. "Dull."

Ignoring him, she continued. "Want to go looking around later?"

"Sure, nothing else to do I suppose."

"Wrong."

This had caught the attention of the other two. _It seemed something interesting might happen today after all_, she thought brightly.

"What?" Asked John, still not quite awake, and certainly not ready for Sherlock's enigmatic ways just yet. "Wait a minute, is that my laptop?" John was awake enough to see this little detail though.

"Mine was in the other room. And Rose doesn't leave hers around…" Sherlock replied. This lead him to the train of thought that maybe there was something on there that she didn't want him to see. He made a note to get hold of it, and have a look around, throwing her a suspicious look. She smiled back cockily, an unspoken challenge, knowing that she would have to change the password on her own laptop. She would do it later, confident that by the time she did, he would have a nice _- if you could call it that _- experiment or some interesting case to deal with by then.

"I need to go to the bank. Coming?"

Grabbing her coat, she answered. "Really need to ask? I'm not getting left behind this time!"

At the door, they both looked back to John, still sat in his chair, watching them both as though they were about to go and destroy something, and he felt he should intervene, but couldn't decide if it was worth it.

"Not coming, John?" Sherlock said casually. Two weeks ago, he wouldn't have asked. He would have just run out the door, not even explaining himself. But he enjoyed John's company, as well as his regular way of looking at things, yet still tolerating Sherlock, and his mad methods, willing to learn.

"Not sure." Was the reply.

"Well, you could always just stay here, watch telly…" He pulled a face. _Television was such a waste of time_. "Or… you could do something interesting!"

Rose smirked, knowing John wouldn't just sit there. He enjoyed something interesting to do just as much as the two people standing in the door way. Her smirk only grew when she saw the man push himself out of his chair, put down his empty glass, and grab his coat, and follow his flatmates to god only knows where.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Silent Banker**

_The Silence of Mr Van Coon_

As the cab pulled up, the three pairs of eyes spied the building they would be visiting. It was tall, very tall. And made out of a lot of glass. The phrase about glass houses and stones came to mind as Rose exited the cab after Sherlock had paid the fair for once.

Walking through the rotating glass doors, she found that she was glad she wore her coat here. Not that she wouldn't, but she was still thankful that the thick material covered the baggy, dark grey t-shirt with a cartoon rock saying "_You rule_" to a cartoon ruler, that was replying with "_You rock_." It was a funny shirt that she bought spur of the moment, but it was one of her favourites, and it reminded her of Ethel and Sid. It was the kind of thing they would find amusing. But in this international bank that just gave off an air of all work and no play, she thought it may be seen as a _little_ immature.

As they approached the desk, Sherlock announced who he was, and they were herded into an office to the side.

Inside the office, sat a man, not big enough to be called large in size, but he certainly wasn't slim. He had a full head of hair, but Rose caught the beginnings of a receding hair line. He wore a suit, complete with business like tie, and an expression on his face that spoke volumes. He was the boss, he had a lot of money, was exactly where he wanted to be in life, and was better than the rest of them. His eyes were cold, his smile false, with a hint of smug arrogance.

Rose Spencer didn't like him.

"Sherlock Holmes!" He exclaimed, standing up and walking around his desk to meet them. He shook Sherlock's hand. "Who's this then?"

"This is Doctor John Watson and Miss Rose Spencer, friends of mine." John's eye brows rose a little at this, as did hers.

"Friends?" The business man however seemed very confused.

"Colleagues." Supplied John, which cleared up the confusion on the other mans face. He shook John's hand, but when she went to shake his hand in the same manner, he took hold of it and kissed her knuckles. She turned slightly pink at this, and resisted the urge to slap him. He smirked at this, and Sherlock watched with mild boredom.

"Sebastian Wilkes." He threw her a smile, which she didn't return. She had learnt over the years that being too nice to people seemed to make them think she liked them, when she really didn't and was just trying to be civil. So, instead of smiling politely at him, and letting the whole thing drop, she gave him an icy stare until he let go of her hand. Watching him go around to his chair again, she noted with a little pride that he had sat down and leaned away from her; he got the message. Taking her seat, she waited until the man was talking to Sherlock before wiping the back of her hand on her jeans.

"I see your doing well then." Started Sherlock. "Been abroad a lot." He said it like fact, though Rose couldn't see how he knew it.

"So?" _So he was right, then_, she thought.

"Round the world, twice in two months?" He seemed to be doing it to annoy the other man, and was only failing a little bit.

"Oh right, your doing that thing…"He turned to John and Rose. "We were at Uni together, he had this trick-"

"Not a trick." Said the man in question, looking bored still, but sounding a little annoyed.

"He'd know your whole life story just by looking at you. We all hated him for it!" He laughed, and Rose noticed herself become slightly more rigid, not liking how this man was talking about her flatmate, not that the talking man noticed. "You would come down in the morning, and this freak would know exactly who you would be shagging the night before!" He seemed to be mocking Sherlock, though tried to make it look like friendly teasing. She felt her jaw clench as her friend was called a _freak_. She knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of it, and though she shrugged it off every time, it still wasn't very nice.

"But you were quite right, I have been round the world twice in two months. Go then, tell us. Was there a type of ketchup on my tie that can only be found in Manhattan?"

"No, it was-"

"The mud on my shoes?" The man interrupted.

She noticed the Sherlock had a bit of mischief come into his eyes, an she wondered what he was up to. "No, you secretary told us on the way in."

Sebastian laughed. "Well, I'm glad you could come in to see me today Sherlock, it seems we have a bit of a problem."

"Not a big one though." Was the bored reply he got from the man.

"Depends how you look at it…" Sebastian countered.

"And how do you look at it?" John asked. It seemed he knew they wouldn't get anywhere soon, and wanted to move things along.

The man looked at him for a second, then answered with what had happened, getting the hint. "We've had a break in."

"What was taken?" Asked Rose, curiosity over coming the desire to ignore the man telling them about his problem. He smiled over to her.

"Nothing, but a nice little message was left."

A few minutes later, the three flatmates found themselves standing in the office of Sir Williams, who had founded the bank. On the wall, in yellow spray paint was a large squiggle, like a number eight, but the top half was more squared, and there was a gap at the very top. Next to the odd design was a straight line, crossing right over the eyes of a portrait of Sir Williams himself.

"They left his office as a sort of memorial…" He trailed off.

Rose looked around the room as Sherlock took some pictures on his blackberry. She spotted a small camera in the corner of the room. Turning back to Sebastian she asked, "CCTV?"

"That's where it gets interesting." He stated, and caught Sherlock's attention.

"Show me."

The men went out of the room, but as Rose got to the doorway, she turned back to the graffiti, and looked out to the cubicles out side the room.

John, noticing the absence of his friend, looked back to see her looking quite puzzled. "Rose?" He called to her.

She looked up to him, smiled and called back, "I'll catch up!" When he didn't move she smirked and winked at him, walking back into the room, looking at the "message" again. Shaking his head at his friends antics, he turned to see Sherlock turn a corner, and ran to catch up to them.

Looking back into the room, she spotted a chair, and pulled it over to the picture. She then, very carefully, climbed onto the chair, so she eye on eye to eye level with the picture. Turning, she looked through the door way and out to the other offices outside the room. Directly in her line of view was another office, so she decided to check it out.

Moving quickly through the offices, dodging people when appropriate, she came to the office she had seen. Going over to the desk, she sat in the seat stationed at the desk. If she looked out of the open doorway, she could clearly see the message, and knew it was left for who ever occupied the office she was in. Getting up, she looked around for anything to identify the owner, and spotted a name plate on the door. Grinning, she walked over and removed it from its metal holder.

Turning around, name plate in hand, she saw Sherlock make his was over to the office, doing what looked like a very elaborate and weird dance. Once again though, he hadn't seen her. Walking backwards, he would have walked into her, had she not put an hand up and stopped him in his tracks.

As he felt something touch his back, he flinched away from the physical contact, whirling around to see the last person he expected stood there. Rose stood in front of him, looking as though she was trying to hold back laugher. He hadn't even noticed she had left their little group. She brought up her hand and showed him the name plate she had taken from the door. She had beaten him to it and he was not happy about it.

"Can't be many Van Coons in the phone book." She said smugly with a grin to match.

Not bothering to hide his annoyance with her, he said, "One last thing." And turned to go back to the original office.

She looked around to see John tucking something in his pocket, and walked toward the first office meeting him at the door.

"So what did CCTV show?" She asked him.

"New frame every sixty seconds, one frame nothing, the next one the paint is there. No one seen at all. And the door wasn't opened, according to the logs." This puzzled her. It sounded like the thing painted itself. "What were you up to, then?" He asked.

"I got the name of the guy the message was for."

"And we find him, we find the sender." He understood now, but as he glanced in the room, he didn't understand where Sherlock had gone. Frowning he stepped further into the room, and scanned around until his eyes came to the open window, and the man in question practically standing on the ledge. "Sherlock…" He said in a voice that conveyed his concerns, but at the same time wasn't loud enough to startle the man.

Sherlock looked down, and saw that ground outside was very far away. Frowning, he heard his name, and turned back to the room, seeing John look very worried, and Rose just poking her head through the door way. He stepped back into the room, and carried on walking, past both of his flatmates. "There was a phone booth just down the street. Should be a phone book there." Was all he said.

Sighing, they both followed him, Rose taking out a cigarette and lighting up. She thought she may as well, as she doubted she would have much spare time today; helping Sherlock with a case, according to John, meant "unexpected running and not a spare moment to do much more than breathe."

So, as John and Sherlock stood in the small phone booth, scanning through it to find Van Coon, she leant against the side of it, enjoying her minty cigarette, and remembering her first.

Just as she finished, putting it out on the sole of her steel toe cap boot, she saw the men come out of the booth, looking satisfied they had found something out. Sherlock hailed a cab, and she jumped in just before it drove off.

At the bottom of the apartment building, Sherlock pressed the buzzed repeatedly, and getting more annoyed every time there was no answer.

"No one is in Sherlock." Said John, exasperated by his friends stubbornness to get a reply.

"New label." Pointed out Rose.

Sherlock looked at her, a light glare on his face. Turning back to the closed door and panel of buttons he pressed the one next to the new label.

"I don't get it." Said John.

"The label is new, and so is the person who just moved into the apartment above." She explained.

"Maybe they just replaced it?" Asked John, though even to his own ears he sounded doubtful.

"No one does that." Was her answer.

"Just then a voice came on over the intercom. "Hello..?" Said a wary female voice.

Suddenly a completely different look appeared on Sherlock's face. It looked kind and friendly, and a little bit shameful. It made Rose do a double take.

"Hi, sorry, I'm in the apartment below, I don't think we've met…" He said, sounding completely natural_. Damn, he's a good actor, _she thought.

"Yeah, I've just moved in…." She said in the same voice. Rose threw John a triumphant look. _Told you so, _she mouthed. He just smiled, rolled his eyes and shook is head at his friends childish ways.

"Well, this is embarrassing," Muttered Sherlock, though still loud enough that the woman on the other rend of the line could hear him. "I seem to have locked myself out, left my keys in there…" He said, hinting at what he needed.

"Oh, do you want me to buzz you in?" she replied.

"Yeah," He said smiling. "And can I use your balcony?" This last question threw her a bit, and she looked up the building to the balconies, as though they may give her an answer. Looking back to Sherlock for some for of answer, he only gave her a small half smile, happy that he had confused her.

The next few minutes were compiled of running up the stairs to get to the woman's place, explaining again that they left the keys in the lower apartment, and running to the balcony, climbing over, and landing on the balcony underneath. Opening the glass door, Sherlock and Rose found themselves in the apartment of the man who received the message left on the wall of the bank. John had stayed at the door to the flat because, psychosomatic or not, his leg couldn't handle the jump.

Looking around they found that he had a lot of books, as well as a lot of pen space. Also, they found it empty.

That was, until Sherlock found a locked door. Hearing a loud bang from the other room, Rose darted towards it to find that Sherlock had knocked down the locked door, and found a man lying on his bed, face up, with a bloody gun shot wound in the right of his head. Rose felt her eyes go wide and swallowed reflexively, though the was nothing to push down.

Hearing John shouting through the door, she made her way to let him in.

"Finally!" Said John in a joking tone, but on seeing his friends face, he put all joking aside, and asked her if she was alright.

"We found Van Coon." She said in a flat voice.

John knew what she meant immediately, and went to see if he could help Sherlock in anyway, telling her to call the Yard, and ask for Lestrade. Nodding she went to the living room and did just that.

It wasn't long before she was letting in the police and showing them to the room with the dead man in it. Just as she walked in, Sherlock was pulling something out of the dead guys mouth, and putting it in a plastic evidence bag, muttering about the man being threatened. Upon seeing them enter the room, he moved forward to shake hands with the new man.

"Ah, Sergeant. I don't think we've met-"

He was promptly cut off though. "Yeah, I know who you are, and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with the evidence." Sherlock stared at him for a minute, lowered his offered hand, then gave him the evidence bag.

"We phoned Lestrade, is he on his way?"

"He's busy, I'm in charge." The man said, seeming to not have much patience with small talk, or details. "And it's not sergeant, its Detective Inspector. Dimmock." Sherlock looked at him again, as though shocked he wasn't Lestrade. The younger DI walked through to the living room, the consulting detective, the doctor, and the young woman following him.

"Well, we're obviously looking at a suicide." Dimmock said, giving the evidence back to a forensic worker.

"That does seem the only explanation of all the facts." Said John, though knowing Sherlock would tell him he was wrong.

"Wrong," _There it is, _thought John. "It's one possible explanation of some of the facts. You've got a situation you like and are choosing to ignore anything that doesn't comply with it."

"So what else?" Rose said.

"The wounds on the right side of his head," Explained Sherlock, as though it was obvious, and he was getting bored with the subject.

"And?" Said Dimmock.

"Van Coon was left handed. Requires a bit of contortion." Replied Sherlock, moving his left hand to the right side of his head in different awkward positions, just to prove his point.

"Left handed?" Said Dimmock again. He really did seem to be quite lost.

"I'm amazed you didn't notice, all you have to do is look around this flat." Said Sherlock, still sounding very bored and not at all amazed. Pointing to the coffee table he continued. "Coffee table on the left hand side, coffee mug with handle on the left side of the cup." He pointed around the room, in seemingly random directions, though she soon saw what he was pointing to. "Power sockets, habitually used the ones on the left side. Pen and paper on the left hand side of the phone, because he picked it up with his right, and took messages with his left. Do you want me to go on?" He asked Dimmock.

But John cut in, sounding equally bored, and as though he had heard all of these deductions before. "No, I don't think you need to."

"Oh, I might as well," Sherlock said anyway. "Almost at the bottom of the list. There's a knife, on the left side of the cutting board with butter on the right side of the blade, because he used it with his left." He made a spreading motion with his left hand, again demonstrating his point. "It's highly unlikely that a left handed man shot himself in the right side of the head. Conclusion? Someone broke into his flat and murdered him. Only possible explanation, of all of the facts. "He finished, mimicking John's earlier works.

"But the gun…" Started Dimmock, only to be cut off.

"He was waiting for the killer." Said Sherlock.

Rose remembered his earlier words. "He was being threatened." She repeated.

"Yes." Confirmed the consulting detective.

"What?"

"Today, at the bank, someone left a warning." Supplied John.

"He fired a shot when his attacker came in." Sherlock was putting his scarf and coat on now, so she assumed they would be leaving soon.

"And the bullet?" said Dimmock, who looked sceptical.

"Went through the open window." Continued Sherlock

"Oh, come on! What are the chances of that?" _Still sceptical, _she thought, even though it didn't quite make sense to her, but she knew Sherlock would be right. _Always is, _she thought dryly.

"Wait until you get the ballistics report, bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun, I guarantee it."

"But if the door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?" Asked the DI.

"Good." He drawled. "Your finally asking the _right_ questions." And with that he pulled on his final glove and took his leave.

John and Rose looked toward each other, sighed and followed their friend out of the dead mans flat.

Out on the street they saw Sherlock getting in a cab, and hurried their pace so that they didn't get left behind.

Sat in the back of the cab rose spoke up. "So, where are we off to now?"

"To have a little chat with Sebastian, he needs an update and this is the perfect opportunity to annoy him." Sherlock said with distaste. He may have known the man at university, but that didn't mean he liked him.

"Well, you can drop me off at the flat on the way then." She replied.

"Why?" He seemed genuinely confused for a moment, and then he covered it.

She smiled. "Because I don't like the man, and while annoying the hell out of him would be entertaining, I'm sure he will annoy me more." She turned to the driver as he came up to the end of Baker Street. "Can you stop here a minute? Thanks." Getting out of the cab, she turned back to the guys in the back. "Have fun, see you when you get back." Waving to them, she closed the door, and walked the rest of the way to the flat.

But as she approached the door to 221B, she spied a sleek black car parked a few spaces down, and wondered if she was being paranoid to expect something other than an empty flat.

Closing the door behind her as gently as she could, holding the lock then letting it go slowly so it didn't snap loudly into place, she held her breath, noting a slower heart rate as she listened to the building she occupied. There was nothing for a few beats, then a soft noise, as though something were being pushed, ever so gently across a surface. It came from the living room.

A few years ago, she had gotten very bored, and had picked up a new hobby: moving as silently as she could. This meant that she experimented on the stairs of her old home on where the most and least creakiest place to walk were, and how to walk silently on a flat surface. She had found it fun and entertaining, though at the time, had no really use for it, and thought she never would. _After all, who needs to creep around their own flat?_ She thought sarcastically.

Getting to the top of the landing with out making so much as a whisper of a sound, she peeked into her living room, only to see Not-Anthea reaching up by the book case, to the opposite side of the shelf to where she found the little camera.

Still being as quiet as she could, she crept into the room, going right up to the house breaking woman, and said, in the calmest, friendliest voice she could, "Hello." She smiled inwardly at the reaction she got.

The woman let out a small squeak, and whirled around so fast she almost lost her footing, which would have landed her in the arm chair next to her. But not expecting Rose to be so close, she leapt back in surprise, and ended falling into the chair anyway.

Taking advantage of the other woman's momentary disorientation, Rose reached up to where the woman was reaching only moments before, and found a small plastic object brushed her fingers. Taking it down, she found it was, as expected, another camera. Sighing, she looked back to the seated woman, who had not bothered to get back up. "Care to explain?" Rose started.

"You and I both know I don't need to do that." Replied the nameless woman, smiling a knowing smile.

Crossing her arms in what she knew was a defensive position, she gave the other woman a message. "Tell Mycroft I want to see him. Soon." With that she turned away walking towards the kitchen, but as she walked, Mycroft's assistant saw her drop the camera in front of her, and proceed to step on it with a steel toe capped boot. When she lifted her foot again, not breaking her stride, the assistant figured that they must have steel lining in the sole as well, for the camera was completely destroyed.

From the kitchen, as she reached to put the kettle on, she heard the woman in the other room sigh, and get up from the chair. By the time Rose had taken out a mug, put a tea bag and two spoons of sugar in it, she heard the front door close. Still waiting for the kettle, she walked over to the window, not pulling back the netting but still seeing through it to see the woman cross the street and get into the car she had spotted earlier.

Today it seemed, was not her day.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Silent Banker**

_A Compromising Silence_

Hearing that the kettle had still not finished boiling its water, Rose decided to make use of the time she had alone in the flat. And with that thought she went down to her room, picked up her laptop and went back to the kitchen, to find, finally, the kettle had boiled.

After making her tea - and ignoring the plastic zip bag of thumbs in the fridge - she went to sit on the sofa in the living room. She had put a little thought into it, and had come up with the perfect password to keep Sherlock out of her laptop. It appeared obvious, but really wasn't. She even went as far as to put a hint on there.

_Something Sherlock doesn't understand._

Taking a sip of tea, she though about her password, and made sure he wouldn't be able to get it. _The hint alone would annoy the egotistical man, _she thought.

One of the many things she had learnt over the years - _and was actually useful in life,_ she mused - was that success was partly psychosomatic. If you believed something would happen, likely hood is that it would. The same going for simpler things. For example; she would leave her laptop in the living room tonight, and let Sherlock see it. He may see it as a challenge, or as a simple slip of her mind, but he wouldn't waste an opportunity. But she believed in herself, and her ability to choose a good enough password to keep the ever observing genius out of her precious laptop.

She also knew how to tell the effects of what she had done.

If he did guess the correct password, he will either treat her just the same as he did now, or slightly differently.

If he didn't he would most likely ignore her tomorrow. She smiled at the thought. _The great Sherlock Holmes; silent for a whole day!_

Her humorous thoughts were interrupted however by the beeping of her phone. She had a message.

_A car for you, my dear. MH_

It made no sense, it really didn't. And she knew it. She knew she should just brush it off, and go ahead with the plan she had formed in her head. But the man had done it again.

He had called her _dear._

And so, with renewed temper, she snatched up her coat, making sure the cigarettes and lighter were in there - she thought she might need them when she calmed down, and was just plain stressed - left her laptop on the desk, and stormed down the stairs again, yanked open the front door, and slammed it behind her.

As promised, a sleek black car sat outside her front door. She took a steadying breath, and opened the door, sitting in the roomy back seat. To her surprise, next to her sat Mycroft Holmes himself. She had expected to be taken to another warehouse or something similar. But no. He sat right there, and just looking at the stormy look in her eyes, he was not expecting a friendly conversation.

"Hello again, Mr Holmes." She said in a tight voice. Though he didn't show it, he was a little puzzled. From what his assistant had said, she was perfectly calm when she left, and it hadn't been ten minutes from her leaving, and receiving his message.

"Miss Spencer, I do believe you wanted to speak with me."

"I do. It seems you are more than a little insistent on bugging my flat." She spoke calmly, and it made him think that maybe it hadn't been him that angered her. Perhaps Sherlock had left something unpleasant she had found - he knew all to well the types of things his brother kept in his kitchen, both at present and in the past.

"It would seem that way, yes." He replied in a cool manner. She pushed her anger down again, _he didn't even try to deny it!_

"Well, it we appear to have a problem then. You want to watch my flat, and I don't want you to."

"Well, yes, that does appear to be a problem for you." He was purposely mimicking her tone and the words she used. Another small thing that really shouldn't annoy her. But Mycroft Holmes just had a special talent for getting under her skin.

"Just for me?" She asked. She thought it would be a problem for him as well.

Smiling, he replied. "Well, you could keep destroying my cameras, but I will just replace them, and think of more creative methods of finding out what is happening in your little flat." His smile grew, and she recognised a glimmer of life in his usually cold eyes. It was the same look Sherlock got when presented with a challenging puzzle. _It must be a Holmes thing, _she decided.

"Then lets save us both the time and effort. Lets try to come to some sort of compromise." She didn't miss the shock that passed in the mans eyes for a split second. He wasn't expecting this, of all things. "You know I would rather you didn't have cameras in the flat, but what would you like, exactly?"

It took him a moment to realise that she was actually willing to compromise on the matter.

"An eye in every room in the building, except bathrooms of course, and preferably two in the main living room." He stated after collecting himself, trying not to show his surprise. This was certainly not the conversation he had expected to have with the young woman.

"You can have the living room, and the kitchen, as well as the hall way if you really want it, but your not having an eye in my room, and I doubt Sherlock or Doctor Watson would want you in their rooms either." She sounded calm and collected, but inside she was panicking a little; she had not thought to check her room, or any of the others for that matter.

He thought for a moment, the whole flat, apart from the bed rooms and bathrooms. It was reasonable, but he wouldn't tell her about upgrading the cameras to knew ones with built in microphones. "That seems reasonable. And I suppose I can let Doctor Watson have his room to himself." He left the unspoken statement lingering in the air, and she heard it loud and clear.

"Fair enough. He is your brother, what you catch him doing is on your own head." The insinuation was not lost on Mycroft, but he knew his brother held little interest for such activities. Though his mind was cast back to when they were younger, and he had caught his little brother doing an experiment with a particularly potent acid in his room. He had not told their mother, only confiscated the acid, and warned the boy not to play with such substances. To this day he didn't know where he got the acid, and he doubted he ever would.

"Indeed. Well, I will have someone stop by in the next few days to fit the devises." The car glided to a halt, and she opened her door to see she was out side her flat once more.

Closing the door, she saw Mycroft do the same, and waited for him to come round to her side of the car before holding out her hand; a sign of the silent truce between them. "Until next time then, my dear." He said, not missing the way her eyes flashed in anger. A theory formed in his head quickly, but he soon found that he didn't need to test it out.

As they shook hands, she leant forward to whisper in his ear. "Call me _dear_ again, Mycroft Holmes, and you may regret it."

The threat almost made him laugh, but he kept her in place, and whispered back a reply. "_My dear, _I would like to see you try." It wasn't that he had never been threatened before - countless time in fact - but he always liked to see them try, and enjoyed the moment when they gave up, and realised that he was not a person to be messed with.

She stood straight again, a dark shadow in her eyes, and she gripped his hand a little harder; an acceptance of the challenge.

Mycroft gave an unusually natural smirk. This would certainly be more interesting than the assassins and politicians he had dealt with in the past.

"Until next time, Mr Holmes." With that she turned back to her flat, and opened the door, deciding that a cigarette and a plan of action was in order.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Silent Banker**

_A Silent Thought_

Walking into the still empty living room, she wondered what was taking her flatmates so long. Checking the time, and seeing it was just coming up to two a clock in the afternoon, she pondered the idea of them going to get something to eat for John, and thought it was likely. Thinking about times and how long they might be, she guessed she had about half an hour before they returned.

Using the time wisely, she searched her own room with a metaphorical fine toothed comb for any signs of any sort of devise. Finding none, she thought she would just have to trust him for now. Laughing at the thought of trusting a man who was watching her flat from the inside out, she changed her mind. She would have to just have to keep an eye out for any changes in anything in the flat.

Deciding to alter her previous plan concerning her laptop, she went up stairs and moved it from its position on the desk, and leaned it up against the side of the sofa, memorising its position exactly. This would also tell her if it had been moved or not.

Hearing a car pull up outside the flat, she went to the window to see it was a cab, and her two flatmates got out of it, looking a little put out, but determined. She checked the clock. Thirty five minutes. _I'm good_, she thought smugly.

Walking into the living room, Sherlock walked past her as she went to the kitchen and noticed something he never liked noticing. His back went a little straighter in automatic defiance to the deduction, and he went to sit at the desk, also noticing there was something different about the room. First he would find out what was different about the room, then he would talk to his flat mate. If it was what he thought it was, then he would need to tread carefully.

John, noticing neither the difference in the room, nor the way his flatmates seemed to be a little lost in their own minds, went to sit in his preferred chair - the one with the union jack cushion - picking up his laptop on the way. He needed to start looking for some form of job, whether he liked it or not.

Rose came back into the living room, a steaming cup of tea for John in one hand, and an equally steaming cup of coffee for Sherlock in the other. Setting down the cups next the their respective owners, she received a quiet "Thanks," from John, and Sherlock's equivalent; a cold and empty stare. But there was something different this time.

Sure, she was used to his emotionless stares and even more disturbing cold glares, but this was something completely different. It was cold, and suspicious and didn't just flicker up to acknowledge her setting down the cup, but it stayed watching her, even as she went and sat on the sofa, lighting a cigarette and looking up at the ceiling.

As she sat down, he noticed what was different about the room. There was a shiny, midnight blue laptop tucked away, in between the wall and the side of the sofa. He smirked, and did another quick once over of the room. That was all that was different it appeared. This took some weight off his shoulders, though looking back to the young woman on the sofa, he found it had returned, as had her gaze on him. He thought he may as well say it, she shouldn't keep things from him after all.

"You've seen Mycroft." He stated, voice calm, though she noticed the suspicion gently laced through it. John's gaze flickered up at the comment; he remembered Mycroft all to well.

She grimaced. "Unfortunately." She said. Turning her head in its side, she asked him. "How did you know?"

"I know my brothers cologne." Was the reply she got. She remembered when she gave her little threat, and she had leaned in to whisper it to him. _Had it really rubbed off?_ She thought. _Didn't even notice it._

"Ah. By the way, what does he actually do?" She may have met the man twice and been warned about him, but she didn't really know all that much about him.

"He _is_ the British government. The one that pulls all the strings, everywhere."

This made her thoughts stop in their tracks. _**Is**_ _the British government? _She remembered his reply, sounding as though he was doing his best to hold back laughter_, I'd like to see you try._ Now she understood, and with this understanding cam a small bout of panic.

What would happen if she were to annoy him too much. Would she be arrested? He had already shown he could get a camera in their flat, and not get caught. And he had hinted that he knew about her brother. _How did he know what Zach had said? _Her over active imagination put forth an idea then that scared her quite a bit. _What if she wasn't arrested, _she thought wildly. _What if she just disappeared?_

Well, she couldn't back down now! At the very least, the man was expecting some form of retaliation. She may have to rethink her methods though…

While his flatmate was having an internal melt down of some form or another, Sherlock sat in his chair, waiting for her to come back to the world of the living and the murdering. He watched her closely, wondering what could have happened to make her react like this. At his description of his brothers occupation, her eyes had flown open and seconds later a small whisper of an expletive passed her lips. But after ten seconds of watching the woman stare into space, often bringing up her glowing cigarette to draw heavily on it, Sherlock had gotten bored. So, deciding to go an check his various experiments, mind racing as he though about how and where to set up new ones, he made his way to the kitchen, but paused half way.

Looked down to the floor, he saw a small pile of broken black plastic, and glass, interwoven with small wires and metal components. He discreetly took a picture on his phone, and decided to see to it later, as his theory may require a pair of shoes taken from his flat mate - who was, annoyingly, still wearing them.

Going to the kitchen, he got out a spare plastic evidence bag, and went to put the "evidence" into it. He then put it on the kitchen table to go back to once the place was full of sleeping people.

Suddenly, snapping Rose out of her reverie, John leapt up off his chair, and grabbed his coat again. "Got a job interview." He said to her quizzical look.

"Wish me luck!" He shouted as he ran down the stairs, eager to get to get there.

"Good luck!" She shouted, just before she heard the door close.

She sat there for a few more minutes before the utter silence of the flat made her snap. She hated the quiet, always had, and not even the madman in the kitchen was making any noise. So she grabbed her laptop, and went down to her room. She turned her music up, sat back on her bed and took a little incentive from her friend, now at a job interview.

After an hour and a half of searching the internet, she found a grand total of; nothing. Anything she did find, she either wasn't qualified for, or was too far away. It was not surprising, but it still annoyed her.

Suddenly, there was a knock at her door. Wondering who it could be, she went to open the door.

There stood John, Tesco bag in hand and smile on his face.

"Hey, just got a bit of shopping." He said happily, bringing the bag up to show her. "Want some pizza?" He offered.

It reminded her of when she used to live with her brother back in Wales, and he would cook one large pizza for them to share. Smiling thankfully, she replied. "Sure, thanks. I'll be up in a minute."

"Alright." And he went up stairs to put the oven on.

As she went back into her room, she turned her music off, and picked up her laptop, tucking it under her arm. But as she looked back into her room from her door way, she felt a small pang of nostalgia. She missed her brothers, even if they were idiots. Sighing, she turned away and closed her door, making her way up the living room, just in time to see John throw a pen to Sherlock, with out looking at him, who caught it, also with out looking at John.

"Nice catch." She said, trying to pull her self out of her thoughts.

She went to sit of the sofa again - it seemed to be her usual place to relax now - and decided to leave her search for the day, and went on Facebook instead.

As she waited for the page to load, she turned to John. "So, how did it go?"

"Good, yeah great! She was great." A small smile played on his mouth when he said _she._

Giving a knowing smirk, she called him out on it. "She?"

"What?" Was the reply she got, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"You said she." Supplied Sherlock, for once joining in their conversation.

"No, I didn't." Said john, backtracking quickly.

"Yeah, you did." But seeing the look on his face, she changed the subject. "So when do you start?"

Thankful for the out, John said, "Tomorrow. Eight thirty, sharp."

"Dull." Came the voice from the kitchen, and laughing, Rose went back to her computer.

She soon changed her mind from going on Facebook however, when she caught herself looking at her eldest brothers profile page. Sighing again, she went in search of a game, and soon found one called "Clusterz." It was a silly game of destroy all the coloured balls, but it kept her mind busy until the pizza was ready.

A few hours later, Rose bid her flatmates good night, and left her lap top - turned off - beside the sofa again. Going to her room, she turned on the light, and stood for a few minutes, listening to the empty silence. She changed into her pyjamas, and lay in her bed, not bothering to put on her usual quiet music, that would lull her into a warm sleep.

After a few seconds, she felt a tear trickle down her face, soon followed by another one. She didn't sob, she just let the emotions wash over her, and allowed them, for once, to leak out of her eyes.

Everything seemed negative as she lay there. She missed her funny brothers, her insane parents, her old, equally insane and funny friends, and the whole life she had back in Wales. She missed the rain and the green, and the cold, her old creaky house that made the strangest of noises, for no apparent reason.

She wondered, once again, whether moving into 221B was the right decision, and whether her brother was right. Maybe she should just move out, pack a bag, find somewhere else to go.

Then a sound cut through the silence. The smooth sound of a bow on violin strings. She looked at the clock on her bedside table.

_11:43_

_John, must have gone to bed by now, _she thought absently.

But as she lay there, listening to the soothing music, she found that she felt better somehow. She had moved on, moved forward, and she was better for it.

And so, wiping her face, she turned over, closing her eyes, and let the calming music flow through her room, taking the edge off her emotions, and letting her drift off into a peaceful, if heavy, slumber.

John, had turned in not long ago, talking about early mornings and work, and Sherlock found his curiosity was back full swing.

First, he went to the kitchen to examine the heap of whatever-it-was he found on the floor, earlier that evening. Looking closely, he found it was plastic, glass, and wires, certainly, but the glass had been circular. _A lens. _The plastic was also curved, as though from a cylindrical case. Putting the two together, he came up with the only thing that could have found its way into their flat. _One of Mycroft's cameras_. The conclusion as to how it got in its current state was an easy one. It couldn't have been John, he was with him before he found it. If it was one of Mycroft's people - though they would never be so clumsy - they would have cleaned it up. But Rose, she could have left it there to prove a point. _Seemed like the sort of thing she would do_, he thought. At a guess to what had happened to it, he would say… boot. It was completely crushed, but had only been hit once, so something with a large enough surface area, _not a hammer then. _One good stamp would have done it, and he knew she had steel toe caps - he had seen them earlier as she put out her cigarette on the sole of one of them.

So, she had destroyed another of Mycroft's cameras. The thought made him smile crookedly. There was no one there, so he let it slip onto his sharp features. Mycroft wouldn't care, he knew, but it meant that he had tried - and failed - to bug their flat again. The delay would annoy him somewhat, to Sherlock's amusement.

Standing up again, he looked into the living room, and his eyes were once again drawn to the midnight blue laptop, slid between the sofa and the wall. He knew she had done it on purpose, but he didn't care how he got it. Just that he found out what ever she was hiding from him. He still didn't understand her.

Sitting in her earlier seat, he unfolded the devise, and pressed the power button. While it loaded, he cast his mind thinking of what she could have used. He clicked the little icon for her user, and saw the little box pop up for the user to type the password into. Smirking, he tried his first thought.

_Zach_

_Password incorrect. _It was a long shot, he knew, but worth trying. She didn't seem the type to use numbers, or change the capitols - except for nouns and the like - so he didn't try that. He cast his mind around a little, then remembered another of his flat mates habits - smoking. But she didn't have normal cigarettes or have them all that often.

_mint_

_Password incorrect. _She had them when she was annoyed, or stressed.

_stress_

_Password incorrect. _He was getting a little annoyed now. He didn't know all that much about her. She had the fashion sense of a humorous man, and listened to all types of music. But she did enjoy her music.

_music_

_Password incorrect. Again? _He sighed, getting a little more annoyed. He had seen the _hint_ button, but really didn't want to use it. Even if no one would know, he would. He thought hard, about everything he knew about her. She liked cooler colours; blues, greens, greys and that sort of thing

_blue_

_Password incorrect. _

_green_

_Password incorrect. _

_grey_

_Password incorrect. _

He tried every colour he could think of, always getting the same bloody answer from the machine_; Password incorrect. _She seemed to enjoy her food, and so he tried the typical foods she had bought in the two weeks she had lived there. Still; _Password incorrect. _

He didn't know any of her childhood pets, or even if she had any! She didn't seem to get along well with her family, so that was a no go, too. Again, he didn't even know her family, only that she had two brothers, both parents were alive, and she had an uncle, from her mothers side - he over heard the call she had with him the day after her brother had come around.

He suddenly remembered the way she spoke to him when her and John had found the head in the fridge. As though to a child, but it seemed practised. He thought she either had younger siblings, but on finding out she only had two older brothers, concluded she must have had a baby sitting job at some point. Again he didn't know the name or names of the children she baby sat.

He didn't think it would be this difficult.

The hint button tempted him again, and after ten more minutes of fruitless thought, he clicked it.

_Something Sherlock doesn't understand._

As the words came up on the screen, he narrowed his eyes. _She had done it on purpose. She had changed her password. _He had suspected it, but didn't know how to confirm it. Now he didn't need to. He also had the impression that she knew that this hint would annoy him. And it did.

But it also gave him an idea. He had proclaimed, in front of her, that he was a sociopath. She knew he didn't do well with emotional things. Smiling in triumph, he typed in his latest theory.

emotion

_Password incorrect. _

"Damn it!" He growled out, lowly. He thought again. Emotion… he tried several things then. Love, hate, friendship, care, compassion, all producing those same two infuriating words. _Password incorrect. _

He got up off the sofa, and picked up his violin, playing any random song that came to his mind. He played for hours, contemplating the young woman asleep downstairs. After seeing that it was gone three in the morning, he resigned himself to an hours nap on the sofa.

So, setting down his wooden instrument and its bow, he lay down on the sofa, closed his eyes, and let his mind run free. It lingered on his deduction earlier that she had seen Mycroft. _Surely what was on there couldn't be that important could it? _But he wondered, and with out having any answers, Sherlock fell into a restless sleep, lasting all of two hours, before he woke again.

With a fresh mind, he looked back to midnight blue devise, still open, still turned on, and looking as innocent as possible. He never trusted innocence.

Unfolding himself from the sofa, he picked up the laptop once more, and typed in the last idea he had.

_Mycroft_

Closing his eyes, he pressed the enter key, and when he opened them again, saw the screen he was far too familiar with.

_Password incorrect. _

Glaring at the devise, he turned it off again, tucked it back into its little hiding place, and went to make coffee. He was not in a good mood.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Silent Banker**

_A Silent Connection_

Rose woke up at half seven the next morning, and found she was unusually well rested.

Jumping up out of bed, she put her mp3 on random and found Matchbook Romance's song "Monsters" was the first to play. Smiling at the up beat song, she turned the music up, and went for a shower, singing along to the slightly creepy music.

Getting out, she decided on putting on her favourite top - a form fitting, black shirt, with two halves of a broken heart over her left breast in a shockingly bright purple colour, and sleeves long enough that the cuffs dangled around her knuckles - over her usual pair of black straight leg jeans.

She had her usual chain around her neck and silver ring on her right hand, and just because she felt like it, she picked up her black bandana with its standard white pattern on it, and wrapped it around her left wrist once, then wrapped it around her palm, tying it just under her knuckles. She loved her fraying bandana; her oldest brother hand gotten it for her, for her fourteenth birthday, and it was one of the few reminders she had of him.

She figured that, as she was feeling so good today, she would also put a little bit of eye liner on, even if she wasn't going out. She also put her steel toe caps on - completing the look - as she had learned that leaving at a moments notice didn't leave time for putting shoes on. She had to deal with Sherlock moaning for _half an hour _last time, and she had only taken a minute!

As she went to go to the kitchen, she saw John pulling his coat on, about to go out.

"Off to work, see you this afternoon. Good singing, by the way." He had heard her through her closed door, and discovered that his female flat mate had quite the voice.

She blushed at the compliment, and the fact she had been caught singing. She loved to sing, and though she had the confidence to do many bizarre things - _like dancing round Sainsbury's, spinning a trolley in circles_, she remembered - singing in front of people was not one of them. So, pretending to ignore the comment, she told him, "Have a good day at work."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be lovely and dull!" He said with a wide smile. As he pulled open the door, he realised she had gone a little red in the face, and thought he may as well complete the job. Turning back, he said to her, "You look nice today, by the way." And with that he grinned, getting more of a reaction than he had expected - she went tomato red - he closed the door, and headed to his first day at work.

Face burning from blushing so hard, she tried her best to just ignore the compliments. She had never been one for getting them, and when she did, she didn't believe them or know how to handle them, and so simply turned bright red. She turned around, heading for the stairs, mind turning to that of breakfast and the possibility of toast.

As she moved around the kitchen, she noted that Sherlock already had a cup of coffee, half full, and so didn't bother making him one, though she offered to make some toast, and got no reply.

Moving into the living room, half a glass of orange juice in one hand, slice of buttered toast in the other, she went to sit in her usual place on the sofa, contemplating the idea of look for a job for the day.

Glancing up at the woman on the sofa, he deduced that he may never understand her. She looked happy today, happier than she was the evening before. But at the same time, she looked darker, with dark clothes and dark makeup that brought out her blue eyes.

Deciding that he had better things to do, he turned his gaze back to screen of John's laptop and saw something that really was worth his time. He let out a noise of interest, in turn catching Rose's interest.

"Got something there?" She asked.

"Take a look." He stated flatly, as he got up and went to stand in front of the large mirror above the mantle.

She then noticed that he had fixed a few pictures of the squiggles and the dead man to the wall around it. Deciding that she could look closer later, she got up and looked instead to the laptop, noting with a small smile it was John's and not hers.

"The man who can walk through walls…" She read out loud.

"Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat, doors locked from the inside, windows bolted, found exactly the same as Van Coon." He said, just as flatly.

The penny dropped. "God, you think…"

"He's killed another one." He confirmed. He let the statement hang in the air for a second, then turned suddenly, heading for the door, grabbing his coat on the way. "Come on!"

She smirked, and grabbed her own coat, holding the toast in her mouth as she put it on.

As she hurried out the front door, she found Sherlock just getting in the cab, and was thankful she decided to put her shoes on earlier, knowing her would have just left her behind.

By the time they pulled up to Scotland yard, she had finished her toast, and she brushed the crumbs off herself when she got out again. They marched through the office spaces with purpose, Rose slightly behind as she had no idea where she was going, but she made sure she looked like she did - people moved out of the way then.

As they approached the desk of the younger of the two DI's they had met, she saw him grimace.

"Eddie Lucas, free lance journalist, "Started Sherlock, "Murdered, in his flat, doors locked from the inside."

"It's similar." Rose threw in. "Both men, killed by someone who can walk through solid walls."

Dimmock still didn't look like he believed it.

"Inspector, do you really believe that Van Coon was just another city suicide?" _Still not getting any where_, she thought. Sherlock seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because he sighed looked around and continued. "You have seen the ballistics report, I take it?" Dimmock nodded. "And the shot that killed him, was it fired from his own gun?"

"No."

"No, so this investigation might move along a little quicker if you take my word as gospel!"

Dimmock just raised an eyebrow at him.

Sherlock, getting rather annoyed at the useless man, lent on the desk in front of him and tried to explain it a little simpler. "I've just handed you a murder enquiry. " He waited a few seconds to let the words sink in, making sure that the man understood them. "I want five minutes in his flat."

Dimmock looked at Sherlock a few seconds, then at Rose - whose eye brow lifted in expectation - then sighed, grabbing his car keys.

"Alright! Fine!"

"Not in your car, we'll take a cab." Said Sherlock, looking bored already. Dimmock gave him an annoyed look, then told them the address that was halfway across London.

Out on the street again, Sherlock hailed another cab, and climbed in the back, telling the driver where to go.

Just as she sat down, she heard her phone beep; she had a text.

Sherlock watched her reflection in the window. She looked at the phone, sighed, and replied to who ever it was.

As she took out her phone, she glanced at the sender. _Unknown number, eh? _She thought, knowing exactly who it would be from. Opening it, she read the message, sighing at what it meant.

_All set up, and to our agreement. MH_

She never really liked it when people didn't reply to her messages, and felt rude when she didn't reply to theirs, so she typed away at her mobile, writing he own message.

_Thank you for sticking to the arrangement, Mr Holmes._

Glancing down at his mobile, Mycroft Holmes was a little surprised to see a reply. He didn't usually get a reply from someone.

However, on reading it, he was a little disgruntled that she thought he would not stick to their agreement. So he decided he may as well fight fire with fire, and remind her of the situation.

A few seconds later she got another message, from the same number.

_I do honour my word._

_And may I say, my dear, you do look nice today. MH_

On reading the message, the automated blush crept up her face, and her eyes flashed in anger as he did it again. This time on purpose, and somehow, it bugged her even more.

Huffing, she put the mobile in her pocket and looked out of the window. All the while, Sherlock watched her, still confused as to what could cause her to blush and be so irritated at the same time. The only thing that made him that annoyed was Mycroft - but he didn't blush - and he doubted Mycroft would be texting her. _Maybe one of her own brothers_? No, they don't seem to get along too well.

"Are you alright?" He asked, the words a little foreign on his tongue.

"You may want to talk to your brother." _Mycroft __**had**__ been texting her?_

"And why on earth would I want to do that?"

"Because he has a camera in your bedroom." She replied calmly.

However, Sherlock was not calm. He hated his brother spying on him. Tails he could deal with, and shake when he wanted to, but cameras were his limit. He really didn't like being spied on in his own home. "What?" He said darkly.

She sighed and turned to face her flatmate a little reluctantly. "I caught his assistant trying to put another camera in the flat yesterday when I got back, and you and John went to see Sebastian. I stepped on it, and told her I wanted to talk to him. So, he picked me up, and after a little talking, we came to a compromise." She said, not knowing what Sherlock would say to the compromise.

He gave her a suspicious look. "What sort of compromise?"

She swallowed, but tried to hide it. He caught the motion anyway. "Well, he wanted a camera in every room, excluding the bathrooms, and I said that the bedrooms were a no go. People need their privacy at some point, and he said me and John could have our rooms to ourselves. I warned him about what he might find in another persons room, but he didn't seem to be worried… Sorry."

Sherlock blinked. "So you let Mycroft bug the flat?" He said flatly, not quite sure if she was joking or not. He could never tell with some people. But she nodded. "Why?"

She lifted her gaze from the floor of the cab, and looked up at the question. It wasn't harsh, or cold or even empty. It was… curious.

"I… umm… I thought it would be better if we knew they were there, rather than have him do it anyway, and we end up telling him something we may not want him knowing. God knows what, but it made sense at the time. And I think he would have bugged mine and John's rooms as well, and that's kind of too far, hell, your room is too far, but I couldn't think of a decent argument for it. I mean, you grew up together by the looks of things, and well, yeah…." She knew she was babbling, and promptly shut up before she said something she would regret, returning her gaze to the floor, waiting for him to start shouting and scolding her. Instead she heard a contemplative "Hmm…" that was neither angry or even annoyed.

After a few seconds, she looked up gingerly, only to find him looking out of the window again. "Are you not mad with me?" She asked in a small voice. It made him turn to face her again, he hadn't heard her sound so… small before.

He frowned. "Why would I be mad with you?"

"Because I let your brother bug the flat, put a camera in your room. You should be at least a _little_ angry with me." She didn't understand his reaction. She thought he should be more than angry; fuming. But he wasn't, and he seemed a little amused at her reply.

"Your right, I did grow up with Mycroft, and so I am used to him bugging the places I live, as well as kidnapping people I come in contact with. Did you know he has people watching us right this second?"

She thought for a second, and then frowned, remembering his last message. _How could he know what I look like? _She thought. She had been so caught up in her embarrassment, she hadn't really seen what he meant. Thinking more on it now, he even used the same words John did. Realising that the compliment was stolen, for some strange reason, made her feel better. Smiling sadly, she shook her head. "I'm an idiot." She stated.

"Don't worry, practically everyone is." Was the reply she got. She looked up to her flatmate, and saw he was completely serious.

She laughed. She just laughed. He just looked so serious, she cracked up.

Watching his companion laugh in the back of the cab, Sherlock had the strangest desire to join her in her laughing. _Was this what people had meant by laughter being contagious?_ He would ponder it later, but for now he just let a few chuckles slip and gave her what he hoped to be a reassuring look. He defiantly wasn't used to this much social activity in one day, and it wasn't as normal as it was with John. "I will fix the cameras after we have solved the case." This made her smile, and he felt as though he had done something socially right, just for a change.

Besides, finding the little cameras was always a hunt he enjoyed. Mycroft had gotten good at it over the years, and now provided a somewhat interesting challenge. It would keep him occupied for half an hour at least.

As they got out of the cab, she turned to him and smiled. "Thanks Sherlock."

"What for?"

"For being you." She laughed a little again, this time at his clueless expression.

He had never been thanked for being him before. It confused him, so he just replied with, "You welcome..." But it had come out as more of a question, making her smile again, and together they went to the flat.

On entering the small place her thought was, _wow, there is more stuff here than there was in the living room, when Sherlock first moved in._ There was "Do not enter" tape across the door way, leading up a flight of stairs, which they promptly ducked under. The stairs themselves were lined with books and papers, so much so that some of them looked like they had fallen down a step or two. The flat itself was a tip. There were clothes on the floor, and on hangers, hanging off doors and door handles. There was an umbrella propped up against the wall, next to a stand that held a green, leafy potted plant. Atrocious wall paper hid behind a cluttered desk and over flowing book self, the things seemingly spilling from one surface to another as they crossed over to a lower, longer table, also covered with books. The cheap, cloth furniture was grubby, the blue stripes standing out on faded white material; that was, when they weren't also hidden by papers and books. Boxes were dotted around the room, some open, showing books or ornaments, others were closed and sellotaped up, a few of the latter having books and papers stacked on top of them as well. The kitchen area was just as messy, books mingled with multiple beer bottles and the odd pizza box or takeaway tub. In the middle of the floor sat a lone, black origami flower.

Sherlock spotted a window, curtains pulled open. He walked over, pulled back the netting and smiled. _Must be on to something, _she thought as he spoke.

"Four floors up, that's why they think they're safe. Put a bolt across the door, keep it shut, they think they're impregnable." He looked around again. "They don't reckon for one second that these is another way in."

"I don't understand." Said Dimmock, not understanding what Sherlock was on about. Rose looked at the window again, and thought back on all the information.

"Of course!" She whispered.

"We're dealing with a killer who can climb!" Explained Sherlock, walked over to a window.

"What are you doing?" Questioned Dimmock, still not used to working with the man.

"Clings to the wall, like an insect… that's how he got in!" He opened the window, but now the DI was thoroughly confused.

"What?"

He elaborated. "He clung to the walls, ran along the roof, and dropped in through this sky light."

"Your not serious. Like Spiderman?" Mocked the DI.

"He scaled six floors of a docklands apartment building, dropped down onto the balcony to kill Van Coon." Sherlock went on.

"Oh, come on!" The DI still didn't believe it.

"And of course, that's how he got in to the bank, he ran along the window ledge, and onto the terrace." Sherlock pulled away from the window, looking around again. "Have to find out what connects these two men…" But he saw something, and went down the stairs again.

"Sherlock?" Questioned Rose, going to the top of the stairs, to better see what he was doing.

He had picked up a book, opened it a few pages in, closed it, and carried on out the door. Sighing, she ran to catch up to him.

Five minutes later they were at a library, wandering down the isle where the book Sherlock had "borrowed" was meant to sit.

"Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died." She heard him say. He started looking at books on the one side of the shelf, and getting the general idea that they were looking for something, though not entirely sure what, Rose started pulling out books, guessing that she would know what it would be when she found it.

After pulling out a few books, she saw something on the back of the shelf itself, and pulled out a few more books, only to see the same yellow symbol, painted in the same yellow spray paint. "Sherlock…" She called quietly.

He turned to see what it was she had found, and pulled a few more books off the shelf.

It was a much smaller version of the symbols they had found at the bank.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Silent Banker**

_The Art Of Silence_

Back at the flat, Rose and Sherlock stood facing the mirror that had become an evidence board of sorts, with photos and snippets of information all pinned up somehow.

"So," Sherlock started. "The killer goes to the bank, leaves the cipher for Van Coon, Van coon goes to his apartment, hours later he dies."

Rose continues. "The killer then finds Lucas at the library, writes the cipher on the shelf, where he knows it will be seen, Lucas goes home..."

"Later that night, he dies too." Sherlock finished.

Frowning, she sighed, hooking her thumbs on the front pockets of her jeans. "Why do they die Sherlock?"

"Only the cipher can tell us." He answered, looking at the photo of a yellow line of spray paint across the eyes of a portrait. He then got a thoughtful look on his face, hummed and went to get his jacket. Taking a breath, Rose grabbed her coat as well, following the consulting detective in his new idea.

They were walking through the streets when Sherlock decided to explain his thoughts. "The world is run of codes and ciphers, Rose, from the million pound security system at the bank to the chip and pin machines that never co-operate at the shop. Cryptography inhabits our every waking moment."

"Yes, ok but…"

"But its all computerised, electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different, its an ancient devise. Modern code breaking methods wont unravel it."

"Where are we going, Sherlock?" She asked.

"I need to ask some advise." He said.

She thought she heard wrong though. "What?"

"You heard me, I'm not saying it again." He said sourly.

"You, Sherlock Holmes, _you_ need help?"

"On painting, yes. I need to talk to an expert."

They had been heading straight for the museum, but took a sudden turn down an ally way.

There they found a young man, around Rose's age, standing next to a bag of spray cans, and using one of the cans to create a painting of a police man on the wall.

"Part of my new exhibition." He said, not looking up, but hearing their foot steps. "Call it, "Urban Bloodlust Frenzy""

"Catchy," Said Rose. "Nice work." She complemented him.

"Thanks." He said, looking up and giving her a cheeky smile, which she returned, ignoring the once over her gave her. She was far more comfortable with cheeky street guys who openly checked her out than she was with "high class" businessmen and gentlemen kissing her knuckles and giving her compliments.

"Interesting…" Muttered Sherlock, reaching into his jacket pocket.

"I've got two minutes before a community support officer come round that corner." He looked up to Sherlock expectantly. "Can we do this while I'm working?"

Sherlock held out a photo of the cipher, and the young man threw her one of the spray cans, which she caught, so he could have a closer look.

"Know the author?" Asked Sherlock.

"Recognise the paint." The other man offered. "Looks like Michigan, hard core propellant. I'd say zinc."

"What about the symbols, do you recognise them?"

"Not even sure it's a proper language." the younger of the two men said, turning the picture a little and pulling a face.

Sherlock gave her a look, then turned back to his acquaintance. "Two men have been murdered, Raz. De-ciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them."

"And this is all you got to go on?" Answered Raz, looking between them. "It's hardly much now is it."

"Are you going to help us or not?" Asked Sherlock bluntly.

He looked between them, from steely eyes, to expectant. He sighed. "I'll ask around." He said.

"Someone must know something about it." But Sherlock was cut off by a loud shout of "Oi!" by the community support officer that, as Raz said, had come round the corner.

Looking up, Raz dropped his can, Sherlock ran, and Rose grabbed the bag - as she was closest - and followed them. She may have had clunky boots and an awkward bag of spray cans, but she could still run pretty fast. The officers gave up after a minute, but they all kept going for a few more, just to be sure.

Jogging to a halt in another side ally, they stopped to catch their breath.

After a few seconds, Raz looked up at Sherlock and said, "Like I was saying, I'll ask around."

"Thanks." Was the reply.

"Here you go." Offered Rose, as she lifted the bag to Raz. He looked up at her quizzically, looked to the bag and let out a laugh, shaking his head.

"Thanks, sweet heart." He said, taking the bag from he, giving her another cheeky smile. She just smirked in return.

Sherlock, bored with the interaction already, and having what he wanted, made his way towards the end of the alley. "Coming Rose?" He called.

"See you soon." Said Raz, still smiling, having out run the officers and only lost one spray can thanks to her.

"I suppose." She said, giving him a cheeky wink, and turning to jog in the direction Sherlock had gone.

Catching up with him, she fell into step beside him. He didn't look at her, but asked, "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?" She asked, a little breathless from her quick jog to catch up.

"You encourage Raz to flirt and check you out, yet blush and get annoyed at being treated like a lady. You could have gotten an ASBO if you got caught with that bag." He said it calmly, but inside he was a little unnerved both at the blatant flirting and the fact that he _really_ didn't understand the young woman.

He was so used to understanding everyone - if not after a few minutes, then surely after _two weeks _- that being this lost was off putting. He didn't like it.

She laughed the thought of getting an ASBO. "Sherlock, I grew up with people like Raz. I know his type of person, and know how to handle it. But I know who I am, and that is not a lady, so I don't know how to handle being treated like one. I don't like it. I grew up in a rough neighbourhood, with two brothers." She shrugged. "I'm used to being treated like one of the guys, and I prefer it that way. I haven't worn a dress or skirt in years, and completely detest being called _dear_." She said the word as though it were the worst possible thing to call someone, and it made Sherlock stop in his tracks.

He had realised why she got so annoyed with Mycroft, and the realisation pulled at the corner at his mouth. He had learnt a little more about his little puzzle.

He and Mycroft had been brought up to be proper gentlemen, treating women like ladies and all that sort of thing. Mycroft took it more seriously than Sherlock had, using it to climb to climb the career ladder and charm the people he needed. Sherlock preferred blackmail and intimidation, but he knew his brother would try to treat his flatmate like a proper lady, as he had every other woman he had talked to in his life. _But, _Sherlock thought, _it hadn't worked_. The thought that his flatmate was different from Mycroft's "crowd" made him happy.

"You alright there, Sherlock?" Rose asked, shocked by his sudden halt in their travels.

Sherlock looked at her, taking in her slightly concerned face and remembered his brothers words to him not long ago. _Seems you have yourself a friend or two there Sherlock. Don't mess it up._

Looking at her, Sherlock tried something he hadn't done since he was a very small child - and even then he had given up after a day, becoming bored with the concept. But he would try again. He would _try_ to make a friend.

"Thank you." He said, hoping she would say what he needed her to say for his little plan to work, and she didn't fail him.

"What for?"

He smirked, mirroring her earlier words back to her. "For being you."

She laughed, shaking her head at his niceness. "Your welcome." She said, just as he had done earlier. With that they carried on down the street in a comfortable and companionable silence.


	7. Chapter 7

**The Silent Banker**

_A Silent Bump_

Sitting in the back of the cab, Sherlock text John, who should be leaving work around about then, telling him to get Lucas' diary from the Yard, and see if he can find anything.

After telling Rose what he was doing, she said, "Ok, so where are we going?"

"To Van Coon's office, see what he was up to before he died. Somewhere their paths will cross, and that's where we look." Sherlock explained, as Rose nodded her understanding.

Back in Van Coon's office, Sherlock and Rose were talking to the secretary of the dead man; a blond woman in smart dress, called Amanda.

"…Due back from Dalian on Friday, looks like he had back to back meetings with the sales team." She was saying.

"Can you print me out a copy?" He asked of her.

"Sure." She replied, clicking on the computer on her desk.

"What about the day he died, can you tell me where he was?" Sherlock asked her.

Rose looked over to see a black square in the calendar on the computer. "Sorry," Said the secretary. "Got a bit of a gap." Sherlock sighed, but she carried on. "I have all of his receipts."

John had just gotten home, taken off his coat and put the kettle on, when his phone buzzed.

_Go to the Yard._

_Find something we can use to trace Lucas's movements. SH_

Letting out a long suffering sigh, he turned the kettle off again, put on his coat again, and went to hail a cab.

As he got in, he thought he saw a woman taking a photo of him, though when he looked back, no one was there. _Imagining things again, John_, he thought, and as he walked into Scotland Yard, the memory was long forgotten.

"Your friend..." Started Dimmock, but John tried to reassure the man.

"Listen, what ever you say, I'm behind you 100%." He said.

"…he's an arrogant sod." Finished the DI. He didn't look up from the bok he was looking through, but seemed better for getting the small phrase off hiss chest.

John was a little shocked. "Well, that was mild. People say a lot worse than that." He replied.

Dimmock offered him a small book. "This is what you wanted, wasn't it? The journalists diary?"

"Thanks," Replied John again, taking the book. Opening it, he found an airline ticket from Dalian to London, tucked into the page the same day Van Coon had died.

"What kind of a boss was he, Amanda?" Asked Sherlock, and detecting the underlying tone in his voice, Rose looked up, and started paying more attention. "Appreciative?"

She seemed to go a little shy, even embarrassed at the question. "Umm, no." She laughed awkwardly. "That's not a word I'd use. The only things Eddie appreciated had a big price tag." She sounded almost jealous, and Rose knew what was going on between the two of them immediately.

"Like that hand cream. He bought that for you didn't he?" Asked Sherlock, sounding as though he knew and just wanted confirmation on the topic. Her silence was all he needed.

As he ordered the receipts, he picked one up and handed it to Rose. "Look at this one." He said, shuffling a few more tiny bits of paper about. "Got a taxi from Hemel the day he died, £18.50"

"Well, that would get him to the office," The secretary supplied.

"Not rush hour, check the time, mid morning. £18 would get him as far as.." He trailed off trying to work it out and do what ever he was doing at the desk.

Rose looked confused, not knowing her way round London just yet, and so the secretary stepped in. "The West End, I remember him saying…"

Sherlock handed Rose another bit of paper. "Underground, printed in Piccadilly."

"So he got a tube back to the office. Why would he get a cab into town and the tube back?" The secretary questioned.

"He had a package?" Mused Rose.

"He was delivering something heavy, you wouldn't lug a package up the escalator." He said, as though it was obvious.

"Delivering?" Said the secretary, starting to look a little lost.

"To someone near Piccadilly station." Rose chipped in. "Delivered it…and then what?"

"Stopped on his way." Said Sherlock, holding another little bit of paper. "He got peckish!" She thought it was as though Sherlock didn't understand that people got hungry. Again he rushed out of the office, eager to solve another bit of the puzzle, and again, she had to run to catch up to him.

Rose was shown the receipt in the cab and she noted the name of the restaurant, which she found was useful, as she liked to know where she was actually going, instead of simply following a mad man everywhere. Sherlock found it useful because then she got out of his way as he walked down the street, spinning to see the whole street. In the end though, he ended up walking backwards, in front of Rose, trying to put her in Van Coon's shoes. How they got like that she didn't even know.

"So, you brought you lunch from here," He said pointing to his right at the food place. "En route to the station." Again pointing off in some other direction. "But where were you headed from?"

She then noticed John walking their way, head down, looking at a small book. "Umm, Sherlock?" She said, trying to warn him.

"But where did the taxi drop you-" And she saw as the two men collided, Sherlock almost falling over. John wasn't so lucky as to get an almost, and ended up on the floor. Giggling, both at John on the floor, and Sherlock's affronted expression, she offered John a hand and pulled him up, much to his surprise. _Strong woman, _he thought absent mindedly.

Sherlock rounded on them, explaining what they had learned to John. "Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died, whatever was inside that case," but John had something to say, and tried to interrupt Sherlock's fast speech.

"Um, Sher-" _Tried_ being the operative word.

"I've managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information…" But John wasn't one to give up easily.

"Sherlock-"

"…bills, receipts, he flew back from China, and then he came here." John tried a little more forcefully.

"Sherlock." Again, _tried._

"Somewhere near, somewhere in this street, like really near, but I don't-" He had started whining and Rose had had enough of this now.

Something hit his arm, and if he weren't wearing his thick coat, he thought it might have hurt quite a bit. Looking down he saw Rose, who looked like she was trying not to laugh, and be serious for once.

"John's trying to tell you something, Sherlock." She said in a stern voice, even if it was lightly laced with amusement. "Listen to him!" Sherlock frowned at her, and she starred him down. Sighing, he turned to John.

"Thanks," John said to Rose, then looked to his other flat mate. "As I was _trying_ to say, that shop, over there." He pointed to a little shop called _The Luck Cat_. Sherlock looked up to the shops, then back down at John, looking expectant of some form of explanation.

"How can you tell?"

"Lucas's diary, he was here too." John showed them the little book. "He wrote down the address." He said simply. With that, John closed the little book, and made his way to said address.

Rose just stood there, though, both waiting for Sherlock - who looked like he had an obvious answer completely wrong - and trying to hold back laughter. "Come on, Sherlock." She said, laughing lightly. He followed the two of them, still looking a little puzzled.

As soon as they stepped into the shop however, they were back to being serious as the three flatmates looked around.

"You want lucky cat?" Said the lady behind the counter to Sherlock. Rose looked up, and found the woman offering them one of the golden cats, with a bobbing arm. He just smiled politely and looked away, his answer obvious.

The lady then turned to her, thinking she may have been interested when she looked up. "Lucky cat? It's good luck, help you with your love life!"

Rose blushed at the mention of a love life, and said, "No, thanks," in a tight voice. John, hearing this, carefully looked up - better to avoid the lady behind the counter - and seeing his friend's blush, smirked. She didn't miss it, and mouthed _what? _at him, daring him to say something. He simply tried to tone down the smile a little, and mouthed back a quick _nothing_. He had noticed she got embarrassed somewhat easily, and thought that it would be a new pass time of his to try and embarrass her as much as he could.

As he turned away however, John caught sight of a tray of small china cups. Thinking Harry might like one, he picked one up, to see if it had a price tag on the bottom of it. What he found however pulled his thoughts from his sister and her strange collection of ceramic knick knacks, and back to the case they were working on.

"Umm… guys…" He said quietly. They both lifted their heads, and walked over to see what he found.

"The label?" Questioned Rose, not seeing the symbol written on it in red pen.

"Sherlock..?" Said John, hoping he was on to something here.

"Yes, I see it." Confirmed Sherlock.

"What?" Asked Rose, not liking being left out.

"It's exactly the same as the cipher." Explained john.

She looked closer. "Well, I'll be damned.." She whispered.

Suddenly, John looked up, and cleared his throat quietly, reminding them where they were. He put down the cup again, and the three of them left quietly.

Walking down the street, Sherlock started to explain to them. "Hang Zhou. It's an ancient number system. Nowadays, only street traders use it."

"So, those were numbers written on the wall at the bank?" asked John, trying to make sense of it.

"And at the library." Said Rose, remembering the message on the shelf.

"Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect." Clarified Sherlock

"It's a fifteen, what we thought was the artists tag. It's the number fifteen." Said John, looking at random price tags on things on a market stall.

"And the horizontal line was the number one." Said Rose, holding up another price tag.

"We found it!" Said John triumphantly.

"Know we need to find out what it means." Replied Sherlock.


	8. Chapter 8

**The Silent Banker**

_A Silent Friendship_

"Two men travel back from China, both head straight for the Lucky Cat Emporium." Said John. "What did they see?"

They were all sitting around a small table near the window of the restaurant Van Coon had come to the day he died. John had been brought his plate of food, and Rose had a small glass of coke in her hand.

"It's not what they saw," Said Sherlock. "It's what they both brought back in those suitcases." He was scanning the street constantly, barely blinking, and fiddling with a napkin on the table.

John looked up at his comment. "And... You don't mean duty free." He stated.

Sherlock leaned forward, and lowered his voice, looking between the other two occupants of their small table. "Think about what Sebastian told us about Eddie Van Coon."

"Lost five million…" Remembered John.

"Made it back in a week." Finished Sherlock. He motioned to the Lucky Cat. "That's how he made such easy money."

"He was a smuggler!" Realised John in a low voice.

"It would have been perfect; businessman, taking frequent trips to Asia. Lucas was the same, a journalist, writing about China. Both of them smuggled stuff out, and the Lucky Cat was their drop off."

Rose nodded her understanding, while John asked "But why did they die?" She thought for a minute, while Sherlock sat up a little straighter. "It doesn't make since. If they dropped off the goods, why did someone threaten them, and then kill them? After they finished the job…"

"Maybe one of them was a little light fingered." Said Rose, taking a swig of her cool drink.

"What do you mean?" Asked John, not used to the phrase.

"What if one of them stole something?" She asked.

"And the killer doesn't know which one of them took it, so he threatens them both." Said John.

"Exactly." She answered.

Sherlock, still looking out into the street, suddenly got that gleam in his eyes again, and she quickly started to finish her drink.

"Remind me… when was the last time it rained…" Muttered Sherlock, who then got up, and walked out the door, Rose close behind, expecting him to do it. John just mumbled around a mouth of food, and hurriedly grabbed his coat off the back of his chair, following them again, regretfully leaving behind half a plate of good food.

Crossing the road, John noticed that his two friends were outside a block of flats, tucked away right next to the Lucky Cat. Sherlock was inspecting what looked like a water damaged Yellow Pages, and Rose was pressing the buzzer.

"What are you up to, now?" Said John, knowing he would probably go along with it anyway.

"It's been here since Monday…" Muttered Sherlock, not explaining to John. He stood up, and pressed the buzzer again, holding it down for a few seconds.

"I just did that." Said Rose, also being ignored by the detective, who had turned around and walked into the alley way behind the flats. John and Rose looked to each other, sighed and followed him.

"No ones been in that flat for at least three days." Said Sherlock, thinking they would understand.

"Could have gone on holiday." Said John, trying to figure out if his friend really would do what he thought he was going to.

Looking up, Sherlock pointed to an open window. "Do you leave your windows open when you go on holiday?"

He carried on walking a few more steps, turned and ran back the other way. But after a few steps, he jumped, threw his arms into the air, and caught the fire escape ladder, pulling it down with him as he landed.

As the creaking metal hit the floor, Sherlock climbed up it. Rose, seeing that he wouldn't wait for them, made a dash for the ladder, scampering up it quickly before it snapped up again. John had been too busy watching them, to realise he was left behind, again, and Rose gave him an apologetic smile. She wasn't strong enough, or heavy enough to pull it down again, and John was too short to reach it. Sighing, he went back around front to wait for them.

Sherlock climbed in through the open window, almost knocking over a vase on the way, but he caught it, only spilling a little water on the rug. He noticed that the rug was already damp though. Frowning, he carried on his way, only noticing the young woman followed him as she came through the window after him.

"What are you doing?" He said.

"Following you." She said as though it were obvious. "And if I get arrested for house breaking, I'm blaming you." She assured him with a cheeky smile.

"Didn't have a problem at Van Coons." He replied with a small smile of his own. He went on to explain his deduction a moment ago. "Someone was here before us, they knocked over the vase, just like I did."

"Clumsy…" She muttered, but he didn't know if she meant him, or the person before them, and so just ignored the comment.

He turned and went to the kitchen, smelling laundry from the washing machine, and pulling a face. She rolled her eyes, and went to check to milk, finding it was gone off.

As he went to check the bedroom, she went to the living room. There she found it was all in order, but a photo of a young girl and a slightly older boy had a small hand print on it. She heard a creek on the floor boards behind her, and turned to see what Sherlock had found. She didn't see Sherlock though. She barely had time to make out much before she had a mans hands around her throat, cutting off her air and choking the life from her.

Sherlock went to the bedroom, noting a foot print on the carpet. "Size eight shoes, but a man's shoe." He muttered, thinking that the only woman he knew with men's shoes was in the next room. "Small, but athletic; our acrobat…" He muttered. _But why didn't he closed the window when he left? _He thought, then the realisation came to him. _He didn't leave_. Then the thought really hit him. "He's still here!"

He ran to the living room, only to find his flat mate being choked by the man. Before he could move however, she did.

Thanking her uncle for what again had seemed like pointless knowledge, she threw her arms in between the mans, pushing them apart and loosening his grip. She then brought up her knew aiming for a very painful hit towards part of a mans genetic makeup, but he twisted, and she hit his hip. _That will leave a bruise_, she though randomly. Before she could do much else though, Sherlock had appeared out of no where and thrown the man off of her, letting her fall to the ground, gasping for breath while they both fell to the floor.

He thought it was a good idea, but then the attacker turned to him, pinning him with a knee to the chest before Sherlock could move, and tightening his scarf painfully around his throat, choking him instead.

Seeing her friends predicament, Rose pulled herself off the floor, and kicked the attacker in his lower spine, hard enough to make him spasm involuntary, and fall to the side of Sherlock. Before she could do much else though, he pulled himself up with a groan of pain, and ran out of the window, slamming it closed, to bide him a little more time.

She wasn't interested about chasing him down though. She was more interested about her friend on the floor who was a little out of it from oxygen deprivation, and unable to loosen his scarf that was still choking him a little, making it harder to breath, and aggravating his neck.

She moved quickly over to him, loosening his scarf and undoing it, leaving it next to him, as she tried to get him to come to a little. "Come on, Sherlock. You made me break a promise for you." She muttered.

Sherlock sat up suddenly, rolling over onto his hands an knees. Blinking away the pain, he sat up, putting a cold glove to his neck. He heard something about breaking a promise, but that wasn't what was on his mind right now. Putting his other hand in his coat pocket, he pulled out a small, black, origami flower. It was identical to the others they had found.

Sitting back on his heels, he looked over to the young woman, noting the bruising starting to form around her neck already. "You alright?" He asked in a low, croaky whisper.

"Yeah," She replied in the same voice. "And you?"

Nodding he got up and made his way to the front door, putting on his scarf again on the way.

John was getting annoyed now. They left him behind - _again _- and weren't even letting him in the front door - _again._

"Because I'm Sherlock Holmes, and no one can compete with my _massive intellect!_" He shouted through the letter box. He sighed, realising he was getting anywhere, and so decided to wait for them to just come back out.

He didn't have to wait long until the door opened, revealing a dishevelled Sherlock and a grumbling Rose.

"The milks gone off, and the washings started to smell. Somebody left in a hurry three days ago." Wheezed Sherlock, getting a worried glance from Rose.

"Somebody?" Replied John, not putting the pieces together yet.

"Soo Lin Yao." Nodded Sherlock. "We have to find her." He then saw something on the floor, and picked it up, finding it was a note for the woman residing in the empty flat. It was written on an envelope, folded in half.

"And how do we do that?" Asked John.

Sherlock unfolded the envelope, revealing a stamp from the National Antiques Museum.

"It's not that far." Said Rose. "We could do with the walk, and I could do with the cigarette." Pulling out her cigarettes and lighter.

Walking down the street, John noticed that she had taken the bandanna off of her wrist and wrapped it around her throat. It was loose though and John swore he saw some discolouration around the young woman's neck. Frowning, he put it away for later, thinking she must want to hide it for a reason.

"What did you mean, you broke a promise?" Asked Sherlock abruptly.

John was lost, but Rose just laughed, which turned into a small cough. Rubbing her neck - moving the scrap of material and showing John the discolouration more clearly - she turned to Sherlock with a smile on her face. "When my parents bought me my steel toe cap boots, it was on the condition that I didn't repeatedly kick any walls, and that I never kicked a person while wearing them." She took another pull on her cigarette, letting the smoke billow around her as she closed her eyes for a second.

"Ahh…" Replied Sherlock, with a small smile tugging the corner of his lips.

Quickening his steps, John walked in front of his two companions, turning to face them with a worried and frustrated expression covering his usually calm face.

"Ok, what happened in that flat?" He asked, looking from one to the other.

"What do you mean?" Countered Rose, but he could see the flicker of fear the recent memory brought up.

"Don't give me that." He said to her, suddenly sounding like one of her older brothers she noted, not sure if this was a good thing or not. Her brothers were as stubborn as they come. "You've got a red throat, turning purple, and the pair of you are as croaky as they get!"

"Good, but you've missed something there John." Said Sherlock. She rolled her eyes, taking another puff of her cigarette. Trust Sherlock to turn this into an observational lesson.

But John saw what he was really trying to do - he was changing the subject. So, crossing his arms, he turned his exasperated gaze to the taller of his flatmates. "Care to tell us then Sherlock?" Getting the subject out of the way.

"Rose is also limping." He pointed out, making her shift under the observation.

"What?" John caught the shift she made though, and the wince she gave at moving her knee. "What happened?" He asked again, but a little more sympathetic now he realised she was in pain.

"The killer was there, and he tried strangling her." Stated Sherlock, as though it was the most boring thing he had to do of the week. "So I intervened and got strangled for my troubles. So Rose kicked him, and he ran away. Satisfied?"

John looked between the two and noticed that they seemed to be more comfortable around each other. Whether it was from them spending more time together, or the fact that they were both nearly killed, John didn't know. But he was happy they were getting along, and seemed to at least be friends - _even_, he thought fondly, _if neither would ever admit it._

So he rolled his eyes, and looked to Rose, going into doctor mode. "You should let me look at that knee."

She shook her head, giving him a look. "It's just a bruise, John." He tried to stare her down, but she just looked at him, a serious look creeping into her eyes. She didn't like anything medical. It wasn't needles or blood or anything like that; she didn't like being studied like some experiment.

Sherlock watched the two while they had their silent argument, intrigued that she wouldn't let the doctor have a look at her knee. After a minute though, he once again became bored, and sighed loudly, letting them both know it. Their eyes flicked over to his face and then back to each other.

Smiling, they all carried on their way, Sherlock thinking about where Soo Lin Yao could be, John watching out of the corner of his eye to keep an eye on the woman who was concentrating on not limping, but finding it difficult to do so without clenching her jaw in pain.

Somehow, though they were all completely different - and completely barmy - they had come together, and now they were friends, though none of them had said a word of the sort.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Silent Banker**

_The Silence of the Museum_

As they walked around the museum room, that they had been informed was where she usually worked, they took in the room, Sherlock looking at the little details, John at the thin young man and Rose at the art work that the room held. She did like art, though she would usually just draw.

"When was the last time that you saw her?" Questioned Sherlock, voice still a little rough, but almost normal.

"Um, three days ago, here at the museum." The young man answered. He seemed very nervous, so Rose gave him an encouraging smile. "This morning they told me she had resigned, just like that. Left her work unfinished…"

"What was the last thing she did?" The detective asked, moving on. "On her final afternoon."

"I'll show you." The worker replied.

He took them down into the basement of the building, and into a large room, odd bits of art work dotted here and there on one side, and on the other side, a long row of large lockers, complete with rotating handle on the sides.

The man walked over to one, opening it.

"She does this demonstration for the tourists," He explained, turning the handle. "A tea ceremony. So she would have packed up her things, and just put them in here." The door opened and they were about to go in, when Sherlock hummed in contemplation and walked further into the room. He came to a halt in front of a white marble statue, upon which was yellow spray paint in the form of the cipher.

A few minutes later, the three of them were walking out of the museum, and down the steps. While they had been inside, night had fallen, leaving the pavements illuminated in artificial orange light from the street lamps.

"We have to get to Soo Lin Yao." Said Sherlock.

"If she's still alive." Replied John, causing Rose to frown at the idea of finding another dead person.

"Sherlock!" Came a sudden shout, making the three flatmates look up as a young man, about Johns height, melted into their vision through the black of the night.

As he came to a stop in front of them, noting the appearance of a new man, Raz looked up giving the woman a cheeky smile. She saw it and replied with her own. It was just their way

"Got something you'll like." He said.

"I bet you have." She replied, not ashamed of the open flirting she was doing in front of the two older men.

Raz gave a chuckle, and jogged past them, knowing they would follow him. As he passed them, Sherlock went to follow him, but John took the second to raise his eyebrows at the young woman. _Didn't think she had it in her_, her thought. She simply raised an eyebrow of her own, and went to follow the madman and the artist.

They came to what looked like a car park, but it full of graffiti, and had a few people in there. Some where on bikes, others had skates on, and one or two had a skate board tucked under their arms. Rose smiled at the familiarity of such a scene.

Sherlock noticed, as they walked through the colourful building, that as John got a little more uncomfortable and more rigid in his movements, Rose did the opposite. She became more relaxed, and he couldn't help thinking that this was once a scene she would often visit, possibly with friends or her brothers. _She really is not a lady, _he thought.

"If you want to hide a tree, where better than a forest." Declared Sherlock. "People would just walk past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message."

Raz pointed to a far off wall as they approached it. "There. Spotted it earlier."

"And that's the exact same paint?" Asked Sherlock, looking excited.

Rose didn't know how Raz would be able to tell from just a picture, _but then he isn't an expert for nothing._

"Yeah." The young man confirmed.

Sherlock looked to his companions. "If we are going to decipher this code, then we are going to need to look for more evidence."

They nodded, and decided to split up and take a look around the outside of the building. Raz gave them a smirk - and Rose a wink - and left them to their work.

Sherlock took out his torch and looked around. He saw many things but what caught his eye was a. empty spray can on the train tracks. Going over the object, he picked it up carefully with a gloved hand. _Exactly the same colour. _He lifted it to his nose and smelled the zinc in the paint. _Thank you, Raz._

Rose looked up and down the tracks a little, and found Sherlock, kneeling over the tracks she had been inspecting, and made her way over to him.

"Empty can of paint." He told her, looking up.

"Nice one." She congratulated.

"Come on." Was the reply she got, and they walked away from the tracks, going past a wall with lots of posters stuck on it.

Sherlock came to a halt, looked at a poster and ripped the corner off of one. She gave him a questioning look, but he ignored her and carried on. She looked back to the poster and saw it was advertising a Chinese Circus act, for one night only. She frowned and looked back at the retreating figure of Sherlock Holmes, wondering what he was up to.

They made their way back to the tracks just as John came round the corner of a building, and called out to them. "Answer your phones will you, I've been calling!" He said, a little out of breath. "I've found it."

They jogged back to where John as seen it, eager to get there. However, on arrival they only found a blank, black wall.

John frowned. "It's been painted over!" He ran his finger over the wall while Sherlock looked around for any signs of people, and pulled his finger away dry. "I don't understand, it was right here! Not ten minutes ago!"

"Someone didn't want me to see it…" Explained Sherlock.

What happened next was very confusing to Rose. Sherlock turned on John, grabbing his friends head with both hands.

"Sherlock, what-"

"Shush, John!" Sherlock demanded. "I need you to concentrate. I need you to remember. Close your eyes."

Rose's eyebrows shot up as John's voice went a little higher, obviously not trusting the insane detective. "What? Why? What are you doing?"

Sherlock let go of John's head, moving his gloved hands to grip the mans arms instead, seeing that it was only putting the doctor off his important task. But then he started to spin them in circles, much to the woman's amusement.

"I need you to maximise your visual memory." Sherlock explained, as though it were a life or death situation. "Try to picture what you saw." They were still spinning. "Can you do that? Can you picture it?"

"Yeah…" Said John, still wondering why they were spinning.

"Can you remember it?" In Sherlock's mind it was a completely different question to ask, and it showed on his face.

"Yes." Said John.

"You remember the pattern?" Sherlock didn't believe him though, John could tell.

"Yes!"

"How much of it? How much can you remember it?" Sherlock had gone crazy, she deduced. They were still spinning.

"Look, don't worry-"

"Because the average human memory, on visual matters, is only 62% accurate!"

"Well don't worry, because I remember all of it!"

The mad man raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes! Well, I would if I could get to my pockets!" He broke free of Sherlock's grasp and dug out his phone. "I took a photograph."

Sherlock tried his best to push down the embarrassment he felt, but obviously he didn't get all of it because Rose took one look at his face and burst out laughing. He threw her a glare, but she only laughed harder. So he decided that instead of arguing with the impossible woman, he would just ignore her.

He took Johns phone, and looked at the picture. It showed the wall, which was brick red, covered in yellow graffiti.

"Hmm, back to the flat. I need to think." He said.

"I'll make tea." Rose said, still grinning from ear to ear.


	10. Chapter 10

**The Silent Banker**

_The Silence of 221B Baker Street_

Back at the flat Sherlock was sat at the desk, John's laptop closed in front of him, cup of coffee next to it. He had his hands pressed flat against each other, perched under his chin, elbows resting on the desk

John had been sent to bed by Rose who had said that he needed his sleep, and Sherlock could work more tomorrow.

"But I also have work tomorrow." Was his argument, shortly followed by a yawn.

"All the more reason for you to go to sleep, then ehy?" She said, finality in her voice.

He had sighed and taken his cup of tea to his room, but soon found he really was exhausted and didn't even finish it before falling into a deep sleep.

Rose was sat in John's usual chair, sipping a cup of tea. She decided that she would text her uncle, but thought to check the time first. It was two in the morning. _That would be fine, _she decided, _he worked the night shift after all._

_Used one of your old lessons today. It really helped, thanks._

She had always got on well with the younger of her two uncles. He lied, and was a complete idiot, but then she seemed to get on better with those sorts of people.

_Which one? And what are you doing up so late?_

She looked at the message and smiled. Her uncle had taught her so much, and yet her mother had thought it would all be useless.

_How to get out of being choked. And I just got in, been a hell of a day._

Before she left, her uncles had both contacted her in their own way. Her uncle Andrew had called her, while the younger of the two, uncle Roy had text her. Both had said the same, in their own way. _If she needed someone, they would be there, if only to talk to about her day._

_CHOKED? What on earth have you been doing?_

She smiled at his worry. He was one of the few people who seemed to understand her, and actually know who she was. He knew she was tough person, and that she knew how to handle herself - he made sure of that - but it didn't stop him being protective of his little niece.

_Relax, I'm fine. _

_My new flatmate is a consulting detective,_

_I was just helping him out._

_Just thought I would say thanks for the lesson._

She left it at that, knowing that further explanation would only take the rest of the night.

As she took a swig of her drink, she noticed that Sherlock had moved over to the sofa, and was lying on his back, hands folded over his chest, eyes closed.

Her phone gave a buzz as she pulled her feet up onto the chair, curling up in comfort, feeling the tiredness creep up on her.

_Hmmm, well I may just have to make_

_a trip down to London, just to be sure._

_Glad you're alright, get some sleep._

_Talk soon._

Smiling at the text, she put her phone down on the arm of the chair, and fell into a light slumber.

Sherlock, lying on the sofa, heard the change in her breathing pattern. Opening one eye, he found she had fallen asleep. He smirked slightly; it was perfect for his plan.

Getting up carefully, so as to not make much noise, he crossed the room, and picked up his empty cup from the desk, watching her closely. When she didn't stir, he walked over the chair she occupied and picked up her mug - also empty - and made his way to the kitchen. He saw the twitch she gave, and felt her gaze on him as he moved, though he pretended not to. _So, she was a light sleeper_, he contemplated. _This would make it a little more difficult._

But he had planned for this. Walking back to living room, he noticed she had gone back to sleep again. _Too trusting_, he smiled.

He took the blanket off the back of the sofa and approached the sleeping woman again, unfolding the material as he went.

He carefully laid it over her, but as he pulled away, he made sure his hand dragged lightly over the arm of the chair, taking the now silent mobile devise with it. She was half asleep as she felt the material be placed over her, and had one thought before she went back to a peaceful and slightly warmer sleep. _He does care._

He crossed the room, going back to sit on the sofa again, and unlocked the blackberry so similar to his own, though it was personalised with themes and desktops and other such little details. Examining it closely, he also found it was quite old, and very battered. The screen was scratched repeatedly as was the keyboard, and one of the little silver stickers on the back was missing. _Previous owner perhaps?_

But that wasn't what he was looking for. He was looking for some sort of clue to tell him what the password to her laptop would be. Both his companions were asleep, and he had hit a dead end on the case for now, though he knew what he would do in the morning. For now he had this, and he wasn't one to pass up an opportunity.

So he read through her notes and her texts. He learnt the names of a few of her friends - Ethel, who she had met the day they had moved in. He also saw that she was close to her uncles, having a few calls off "uncle Andrew" over the past two weeks, and several texts from "uncle Roy," some of which were only minutes ago.

Reading through her messages, he found a couple off Mycroft and was torn between smiling that he was right - Mycroft _had_ called her dear - and frowning that he text her in the first place. Moving on, he decided that there wasn't anything he could do at this moment in time.

He spent the best part of an hour reading messages, notes and going through the history of her internet browser as well as looking through her photos and pictures. He found reminders for birthdays, ideas for presents for people, recipe ideas, songs to listen to, to-do lists by the dozen and many, many photos of various people pulling silly faces.

Sighing, he put the phone on the side, thinking over what he had found out.

She had a lot of friends in Wales, and was happier with them than she was with her family. Obvious from the photos. She also loved her pets, but again he didn't know any names_. It doesn't fit the hint anyway._

He had found something useful though. Her internet showed that she loved to read, and would read practically anything; stories, the news, horoscopes, anything. Also, her texts were worded properly, with correct punctuation and spelling. It showed she would most likely not abbreviate her password.

A thought occurred to the man then. _A question…_

_What does Sherlock not understand?_

She wouldn't reply with one word. She would reply; _how to …_

Smiling a small smile, he leant over and picked up the laptop again, typing in his new idea.

How to feel

_Password incorrect._

He glared at the laptop and tried another one that she may think of.

How to care

_Password incorrect._

He snapped the laptop shut again, making the woman frown in her sleep, but not quite waking her. He put it back beside the sofa, and lay back, deciding to take a quick nap, if only to refresh his mind.

A few hours later, the unusually bright light woke Rose from her slumber as she wasn't used to more than a faint glow from her room downstairs. She frowned, but decided to get up anyway.

She reached out for her phone to check the time, but found it wasn't where she left it. She pulled back the blanket and stood up, checking the seat of the chair. Feeling a stiffness in her neck, she pushed her chin to the side, clicking it with a satisfying crunch, but soon regretted it as she remembered the bruises around her neck. She suppressed a groan of pain, grit her teeth and looked on the floor around the chair. Still no phone. However she did find the illusive devise when she looked up.

It was sat on the arm on the sofa, where Sherlock was currently sleeping, looking as relaxed as she had ever seen him. It was clear as day what had happened. She may not be a social person first thing in the morning, but her brain was usually working just as well as it would after being awake for a few hours.

_Crafty bugger…._She thought as she crossed the room and took her phone in her hand. _6:17am _it read.

She went for a shower, and as she got out she felt that, though the sun was shining a little brighter, she wasn't as happy as she was the day before, and decided to just go plain in her clothing today. She put on her standard black jeans, and one of her fitted black tank tops on. It was warmer and she did like her tank tops; she had a rainbow of colours. She also had a wide variety of coloured scarves, similar to her bandana in designs, but bigger and a lot more frayed as the edges. However, today she went with a dark green one, subtly drawing attention to her neck, but away from the bruises - which were worse than she thought when she looked at them in the mirror, as was the one on her knee - and so folding a large frayed square of green material in half, to make a large triangle, she tucked it gently around her neck, wincing when she touched the marked skin. She put on the bandana as she had the previous morning, tying around her wrist, and put on her boots again.

She went up stairs to the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of orange juice. Walking into the living room, she noted that the sofa was once again vacant.

She wondered over to the "evidence board" and stood drinking her juice, refreshing her mind on all the details of the case.

After a few minutes she heard Sherlock go to the kitchen and put the kettle on. He froze for a second, then turned slowly to see Rose; up, dressed and drinking orange juice, while looking at the information on the wall. He thought she had just gone to bed.

Hearing him enter the room, she decided to let the phone thing go._ It's Sherlock_, she reasoned, _the only reason he hasn't looked through your laptop is because he can't guess the password. "_So what do we do now?"

He blinked, _she knows_. He knows she knows, the phone was gone. But she's letting it go. _Why? _"We go back to the museum, I want another word with the worker, see if anything new has happened."

"Alright then." She downed her drink, put it in the kitchen sink and picked up her coat. When he didn't move, she looked back to him. "Are we actually going now?"

He blinked again, and a small half smile crept onto his face. "Why not?" He grabbed his coat, and they left the flat, both smiling at having something to do.


	11. Chapter 11

**The Silent Banker**

_The Silence of Soo Lin Yao_

"Two men who travelled back from China were murdered." Sherlock rounded on the worker. "And their killer left them messages in Hang Zhou numerals."

"Soo Lin Yao is in danger." She explained. "Now that cipher is the same pattern as the others. He means to kill her as well."

"Look, I've tried everywhere. I've called friends, colleagues. I don't know where she's gone, I mean she could be a thousand miles away."

But Rose had seen that Sherlock had stopped his searching of the room and was staring somewhere behind her. "What are you looking at?" She turned to see a glass display case.

"Tell me more about those pots." He demanded, walking over to them for further inspection.

"The pots were her obsession. They need urgent work; if the clay dries out, it can start to crumble. Apparently you just have to keep making tea in them." The worker explained, walking over to stand by Sherlock.

"Yesterday only one of those pots was shining." Deduced Sherlock, bending down to get a better look. "Now there are two…"

An hour later, the pair of them were sat on a bench out side of the little gift shop near the entrance to the museum. They had been to see the supervisor, explained what they needed, and gotten permission to carry out the plan, after much persuasion and the threat of someone's imminent death.

So now they sat, waiting. It was a credit to how bored they were that Sherlock was making conversation.

"You see that man over there with the hat? Holding hands with his wife?" He said.

"Yeah.." She said, wondering what he was going to come up with.

"He's having an affair, but doesn't know which woman he wants. His friend has said he should pick one and is pressuring him to do so. Right now, he is trying to figure out if he really wants to be with his wife, and so has been avoiding the woman on the side. So, she has taken to stalking him. She knows about his wife, but he's obviously told her that he will leave his wife for her, and just hasn't found the right way of telling his wife." He said it all in a low voice pointing out the appropriate people; the husband holding hands with the wife, and the blond woman in the sunglasses.

She took in a breath but then thought of a better question than _how did you know that? _"That's incredible" She complemented. "Could you teach me how to do it?"

The question threw him for a minute, and he frowned in thought. She waited for an answer patiently, though had an idea of what it would be when he frowned.

_Teach her? _He had never thought about teaching someone else to do what he did. He saw things when he was young but, admittedly, it had been Mycroft who taught him how to interpret and use what he saw. He thought for another minute or so, and as he did her hopes diminished bit by bit. Just as she was about to give up all hope what so ever, he spoke up.

"I suppose." He looked down at her, and she spun around to look up at him. He saw the light shine in her eyes, the hope gleam in them. "We may as well try it. We can start today and see where we go."

She was ecstatic! She loved to learn and now she could learn to learn all the time. And he was going to teach her; the best and most insane detective in the country was going to teach _her_. She could have hugged him, though she restrained herself from doing so - she didn't know what he would do, and it would probably only make things awkward for a while.

"So," He started, "What do you see?"

And that was how they spent the day; sitting in the museum, occasionally walking about to see different types of people and popping out once so Rose could have a cigarette. That had been an interesting conversation for the both of them.

Sherlock had though she was doing well for someone just starting out, so when she asked if he minded if she went for a cigarette, he let her, and even went with her.

"Can I ask you a question Sherlock?" She had asked, leaning against the wall of the alley, similar to where they first met Raz. It was deserted now, but quiet and peaceful.

He only raised an eyebrow at her, wondering what she may want to know.

"Why did you stop smoking?" She asked curiously, looking at her own half burnt cigarette.

"It's impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days." He replied in a rehearsed fashion. She had seen the cold and slightly annoyed look in his guarded eyes though. _Mycroft made him quit, _she deduced.

Feeling a little guilty at having pried, she told him, "My parents don't know I smoke, neither do my brothers. My uncle only knows because I went to him after I left my parents. I was a wreck." She laughed humourlessly. She glanced to him out of the corner of her eyes, and caught him looking rather bored. She didn't take offence though, it was just his way. So they stood in silence as she finished her cigarette, Rose going over what she had learned in the past few hours, Sherlock going over what he had learned in the past few minutes.

After the little break, they had gone back inside to carry on their "lessons." She was getting used to knowing the basics of what to look for - tan lines, jewellery and how the person moved - it was just a matter of getting into the habit of using it.

At four, John text Sherlock, asking where they were. He had gone to the flat and found it empty; something that could never be good. Sherlock had text him to come to the museum, and when he did, they explained everything to him.

When the museum started to close up, the three of them had gone down the store room they hand been to earlier, hiding against the far side wall, behind the various art works, their dark clothing blending with the shadows.

As predicted, the oriental woman had snuck out of her hiding place a few hours after the museum had closed, getting out her work and started to make her tea.

Without her noticing, Sherlock approached her. "Fancy a biscuit with that?" He said, startling her into dropping the pot she had been holding. Sherlock's quick reflexes however caught it before it hit the ground, handing it back to her. "Centuries old, don't want to break that." He stood up straight again. "Hello."

Her eyes flickered to the door as the lights came on, showing John and Rose standing not far away.

She explained how she grew up and became a smuggler, working for a gang called The Black Lotus. She explained about her brother, Zi Zju, meaning spider, and how only he would do what is being done. That he had become a puppet for Shan, the Black Lotus General. She showed them her tattoo, a black flower in a circle, and how it was the mark of a foot soldier of the Black Lotus.

She explained that five years after she left, her brother came looking for her, wanting her help. She turned him away, but he had said she betrayed him.

"The next day, I came to work, and the cipher was waiting." She finished.

Sherlock took out the hard copy of the picture John had taken as well as one of the cipher on the wall of the bank, and showed it to her. "Can you decipher these?"

"These are numbers…" She replied. "The line across the mans eyes, it is Chinese number one."

"And this one means fifteen, but what is the code?" He asked.

"All the smugglers know it. It is based upon a book-" She was cut off then by the buzzing of the lights as they flickered into darkness.

Sherlock stood up straight, looked to John, who stood from his seat, and they looked around. Rose who was already standing, having sat all day, gave the men a confused look.

"He's here." Declared Soo Lin. "Zi Zju, has found me." She closed her eyes in fear, as Sherlock ran to the door.

John took Soo Lin's arm and placed a hand on Rose's back, guiding them over to a large wooden box. They ducked behind it, but seconds later, they heard gun shots. John looked to Rose, silently telling her she was in charge now. "I have to go help him. Bolt the door after me." With that, he got up and ran for the door.

"Stay here, I'm going to do the door." Whispered Rose, getting up. She stuck to the shadows, and carefully but quickly made her way to the door, bolting it shut, but as she did, she heard a gun shot, and dived into the shadows of the art work along the wall. Despite her efforts though, as she landed, her hands hit the floor, the metal band on her finger ringing out sharply, loud enough to be heard across the room in the deathly silence.

Holding her breath, she tried to hear for any movement. She waited a moment, and turned around. Her eyes flew wide open in fear, and she back against the wall as he approached her.

She had run out of room though, her back hitting the wall and he was still advancing. Raising his hands, he gripped her throat as he had done just the day before, only this time, when she tried to get out of it, he was expecting it, and held strong.

But his thumbs weren't pressing her windpipe, she noted with a fresh wave of fear, they were pressing the flesh either side of it. _Sleeper hold_, her mind threw out randomly, though it didn't offer anything of any real use.

As black dots covered her vision, she hear foot steps from far away, heavy and fast. It was the last thing she noticed before she blacked out.

John got to the middle of a large, moon light room, full of shadows and silence. He looked around for any sign of Sherlock, but upon seeing none, he thought he would go looking around.

He soon changed his mind when he heard a gun shot sound from the room he had just left.

"Oh, god…" He muttered.

_Only one shot_, he assured himself as he ran down the corridor, can't be as bad as you think. On thinking this he ran faster than before, praying that Sherlock was actually unharmed and didn't need him.

As he turned the corner, he saw the door in sight and carried on running. But he came to a problem. They had listened to him as he left, and had bolted the door. He didn't know any other way in, and was too panicked to do anything more than try to force it open.

On his fourth try to break down the door with his shoulder, ignoring the pain shooting through the limb, Sherlock rounded the corner and came running towards him.

"They bolted the door after I left." Explained John quickly, and together they got the door open after two more tries of combined effort.

Upon entering, they saw Soo Lin, laying on the table, with an open palm containing a folded black lotus. She had a single gun shot wound to the head, eyes closed as if she were sleeping.

"John…" Sherlock's voice called him back from his thoughts of regret, war and death, brought to the surface by the sight before him. John looked up to see his friends face unusually concerned and puzzled. Then he remembered, kicking himself for ever forgetting.

John cursed, but Sherlock frowned, whipping out his phone.

"What are you doing?" John asked him, doubting he was calling the police.

"She has her phone on her. If she's still here, we'll hear it." Explained Sherlock, clicking the call button on his phone. They listened,

_Buzz…Buzz…Buzz…_

Following the sound towards the door, the men stopped short, turning to look into the shadows. There they saw a crumpled young woman, looking more like a fragile little girl, sprawled on the floor, long brown hair covering her face and neck.

John went straight into doctor mode, swiftly walking past Sherlock, who cancelled the call. John knelt beside her and checked her pulse at her neck, pulling away her scarf to reveal yesterdays bruises.

"She's alright." Cleared John, with a sigh of relief. "Just unconcious."

"Sleeper choke." Clarified Sherlock, noting the angrier bruises on the sides of her throat. "Cool water, and a cigarette should do the trick."

The doctor huffed at the idea that a cigarette would help anyone get better from anything, though smiled at the fact the Sherlock had cared. He picked up the scarf that he had taken off of his friend, exposing her neck, collar bones and a bit of chest. "Come on, help me get her up. She doesn't want to come around to this."

And with that, Sherlock and John carried their flatmate and friend up to where the entrance was, laying her on the bench where they had sat earlier.

While John went to get a bottle of water from one of the vending machines, Sherlock sat on another bench, leaning his elbows on his knees, hands pressed together in thought, as was his habit.

He wondered about the young woman who had still not left. She had been kidnapped and choked twice. She put up with him playing his violin at the most ungodly hours, his experiments, his sociopathic tendencies on a daily basis as well as whatever body parts were in the kitchen.

And yet she stayed. She accepted his methods, and tried to come to a compromise with Mycroft, who was basically stalking her - even if she did know about it - she even defended him when Zach had said he was a freak.

He wondered why she was still here, after all this. He also wondered what it would take for her to just leave. Would it have to be something big and elaborate? Or would she one day, just snap at the smallest little thing?

John came back, bottle of water in hand, to see an unconscious and uncomfortable looking young woman on one bench, and Sherlock in his "thinking" pose on the other. He would wait for her to come around before he examined her neck, if only to give her some form of choice in the matter; he knew she wasn't one to be doctored.

Sherlock looked up to john, and saw him cross the room to sit next to him. "When she comes round, we need to have a word with Dimmock." He said in a low and dangerous voice. John just nodded, thinking about how many people had died in the case so far, and how many more might follow them.


	12. Chapter 12

**The Silent Banker**

_The Silence of Contemplation_

They were standing in the office of DI Dimmock again, and they were not a happy trio.

When Rose hand woken up, John hand given her the bottle of water, which she swallowed painfully, and he took a look at her neck. Half way through the brief examination however, she turned bright red, realising that she wasn't wearing her scarf, and was showing a decent amount of chest. She closed her eyes in embarrassment, and reassured herself with the fact that John was a gentleman and a doctor, and Sherlock was just Sherlock. It didn't stop her grabbing her scarf as soon as she could and wrap it around her neck though.

Now stood in the office, she was only half listening to the conversation around her as her sore neck was uncomfortable and distracting. She heard John getting agitated though.

"How many murders is it going to take before you realise this maniac is out there?" But Dimmock walked away, only making John more frustrated. _Looks like he wants to punch him_, she mused. _Wouldn't blame him._

She sighed, and stood up from the chair she was given and walked after him before either of the men could do anything. She stood in front of him, blocking his path when he tried to move around her, and glared up at him. "It's rude to walk away from someone when they are talking to you." She croaked, making the man frown.

John stepped in then. "A young girl was gunned down tonight. That's three victims, in three days. And your supposed to be finding him."

Sherlock wondered over to them at that point, also trying to convince the DI. "Brian Lucas and Eddie Van Coon were working for a gang of international smugglers, a gang called the Black Lotus, operating here, in London, right under your nose."

Dimmock stilled for a second, then turned to face Sherlock. "Can you prove that?" He spat out. A challenge, not believing that Sherlock could actually do it. But Sherlock drew up to his full height and looked down on the inspector.

"Yes I can."

With those three words, they made their way to another building - Rose wasn't paying much attention as to where they were going - and they walked through, heading for a canteen.

They approached a young woman, a little older than Rose, and Sherlock spoke to her. "What are you thinking, pork or the pasta?"

She looked up, then back down, trying to hide a small smile. "Oh, it's you." Rose saw immediately that the woman had a thing for Sherlock. _Poor girl_, she thought.

"I'd stick with the pasta." He recommended. "Don't want to eat the roast pork, not if your slicing up cadavers." This caught Rose's attention though. _What…?_

"What are you having?" The woman asked.

Sherlock looked to the food again. "Don't eat when I'm working, digestion slows me down." _Sounds like something only Sherlock could say, and get away with_, she thought.

"So, you're working here tonight?" Said the new woman, not looking Sherlock in the eyes.

"Need to examine some bodies." He explained.

"Some?" She questioned.

"Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lucas." The consultant clarified.

She looked to the clipboard in her arms, frowning slightly. "They're on my list…"

Rose was shocked by what she saw then. It almost seemed as though Sherlock, _Sherlock Holmes_, was trying to be charming! "Can you wheel them out again for me?"

"The paper works already gone through…" She said, still not looking him in the eye. _Trying to say no to him_, Rose deduced.

Sherlock frowned a little, and went to turn away, but suddenly turned back, seeing something he could use. "You've changed your hair." He stated.

"What?" Replied the woman, caught off guard. She looked up to meet his eyes.

"The style," He explained, trying to sound nice. "It's usually parted in the middle." Rose raised an eyebrow at John, who rolled his eyes. They both knew what was going on.

"Yes, well.." She tried to come up with something to say, but couldn't think of anything. He saved her the trouble though.

"It looks good, umm," He really hated social situations like this. "It suits you better this way." He nodded, trying his best to look genuine, even though he couldn't care less. He offered the short woman a smile, which she returned, turning to lead them to the lab. Before they got the door though, Rose spoke up.

"Are we going to look at dead people now?" She asked bluntly, but quietly to John.

"Yeah." Was the simply answer she got.

So, she nodded, and told him, "I'm going out for a cigarette then, if you don't mind." Though John knew she wasn't going out because she wanted a cigarette - rather, she didn't want to see another dead person just yet.

In the cab to Scotland Yard they had told her about Soo Lin Yao. She had nodded grimly and looked out of the window, but John swore he saw her wipe away a tear.

"Sure, do you want me to keep you company?" He offered.

She just smiled at him, _always the gentleman. _"Nah, go with Sherlock. Try not to let him add Dimmock to the morgue." They both saw how angry Sherlock was getting with the uncooperative DI, even if he did try to hide it. They chuckled and went their separate ways.

Rose found her way out of the building again, and went to lean against the wall, standing in the shadows but near enough to the door so she could see when they came out.

As she light her minty stick of tobacco with shaking hands, she took a deep pull, feeling a scratch on the inside of her throat. As she blew out the smoke, she felt a single tear trickle down her face.

She wasn't one for openly sobbing and crying loudly. She would maybe sob if something was really bad, but never loudly; she didn't see the need for it. As she stood there, smoke billowing graceful around her tear streaked face, she thought again about everything that had happened, and made up her mind.

She would stay. She may be chasing a gang of murdering smugglers, and she had been choked twice in two days, but she knew she was much happier than she had been in a long while. John and Sherlock didn't treat her like a child; like she couldn't take care of herself. They knew she smoked and accepted it, even though one of them had quit.

They accepted her for who she was.

This thought made her smile, but she noticed that he cigarette was almost to the butt. This only served to wipe the smile off her face; it reminded her of Soo Lin, and how her life was so cruelly burnt up and taken from her. She felt anger boil deep in her veins, the sort of anger that only leaves when it has been vented in some way. It made her determined to get the bastard that killed the young woman.

She threw the butt on the floor, stood on it and pushed of the wall. She pushed her arms to the side of her, reaching out as far as she could , feeling her muscles protest under the strain. She opened her fingers, doing the same, but felt a sharp stab of pain on the finger her ring was on. Inspecting it, she found that she had a small cut from when her hand had hit the floor and the metal had sliced into the flesh. Sighing, she took the ring off and looped her necklace through it. She rolled her neck, feeling every bit of the bruising, but knowing that it would get worse before it got better, as so she got the worst of it over with. She rolled her shoulders, and stood up straight, lifting her head up so she was at her full height, head held proudly. It was a routine she found had worked to get her to stop being so down and negative. It worked and she strode with purpose towards the door that, at that moment, opened.

They had shown Dimmock the tattoos on the heels of the dead men - who then proceed to silently admit defeat and ask what they wanted. Sherlock had said their books, confusing Dimmock, but the men offered no explanation.

Walking down the corridors of the building, John couldn't help but think of the young woman waiting outside. She had been through so much in such a short space of time, and he didn't know how she would handle it. Would she break down? Move out? Stay, but completely ignore them? He had no idea, and it bugged him to no end.

"Relax John." Said Sherlock, obviously sensing the mans distress. Dimmock had gone to make the call to bring the books, and the flatmates had decided to go back to their flat to await the arrival of the books.

"She's barely twenty Sherlock." John replied with worry.

"You underestimate her." Said Sherlock simply, as though it were simple.

"You overestimate her." John countered. Sherlock only smirked as the approached the doors that would lead them outside. The sight that met them stopped Johns thoughts in their worrisome track, and made Sherlock's smirk grow in size.

In front of them was a young woman, no longer broken or upset. John saw a fire in her eyes, a determination to work and not stop until they had their man.

It was the same spark he saw in Sherlock's eyes when he got an interesting puzzle.

She saw the look in John's eyes and Sherlock's smirk, bigger than usual. John had thought she would crumble, and Sherlock had disagreed. It was obvious to her. She didn't judge John though, she knew he only meant well and would not hold her back.

The two men walked down the steps to meet their flat mate, Sherlock clapping her on the shoulder as he passed, a silent encouragement and, though she didn't know it, to him it was a symbol of pride that she had persevered and was still willing to work and carry on.

Silently, they hailed a cab, heading back to their flat.


	13. Chapter 13

**The Silent Banker**

_A Book Called Silence_

Back in the flat, Rose took off her coat, and went to put the kettle on while John and Sherlock went to the living room.

"It's not just a criminal organisation," Sherlock was saying to no one in particular. "It's a cult. Her brother was corrupted by one of it's leaders."

"Soo Lin said the name." Chipped in Rose from the other room.

"Shan." Supplied John.

"Yes, General Shan." Corrected and confirmed Sherlock.

"We're still no closer to finding them." Muttered John.

"Wrong!" Said Sherlock firmly, spinning to look at John. "We've got almost all we need to know. She gave us most of the missing pieces." Sherlock, seeing they were lost gave them an annoyed look. "Why did he go to see his sister? Why did he need her experience?"

"She worked at the museum." John answered.

"An expert in antiquities…." Rose finished.

"Hmmm, I see." John said.

"Valuable antiquities John, ancient Chinese relics purchased on the black market. China's home to a thousand treasures, hidden after Mau's revolution."

"The Black Lotus is selling them." Said John, taking a cup of tea from Rose as she moved through the room, setting Sherlock's own coffee on the desk. She went back for her own drink.

Sherlock looked up as she passed, eyes falling on Johns laptop.

At the desk, John and Rose crowded round Sherlock who sat on the chair controlling the mouse of the computer. They were looking at antique auctions.

"Check for the dates…" John muttered.

"Here." Said Sherlock pointing to the screen showing two vases. "Arrived from China four days ago. Seller is anonymous."

"Two undiscovered treasures from the east…"John said.

"One in Van Coon's case, the other in Lucas's." Rose finished, sipping her tea.

Sherlock typed in _antiquities sold at auction _into the search bar on the screen, looking at the results.

"Look, here's another one!" He said. "From China a month ago, ceramic statue, source is anonymous. Sold at £400,000."

"That's a lot of tea…" Rose muttered, eyes wide.

"Look, a month before that." Pointed out John, looking through Lucas's diary. "Chinese painting, sold at half a million."

"They're stealing them back in China and one my one feeding them into Britain." Rose said, still looking a little shell shocked.

"All of the dates coincide with either Lucas or Van Coon going over there." John said, checking the dates.

"So what if one of them got greedy while over there, what if they stole something." Theorised Sherlock.

"That's why Zi Zhu's come, to get it back." Finished John.

They were brought out of their bubble though by a knock at the living room door. Turning around they saw it was Mrs Hudson. "Sorry, only me." She looked to the detective. "Are we collecting for charity Sherlock?" She asked.

He frowned, _why on earth would we collect for charity? _"What?"

"A young man's outside with crates of books." She said, looking a little puzzled.

"Ah." He replied, standing up and going to the door.

Together, the three flatmates and the two officers that had delivered the books hauled the dozen or so large crates of books into the living room. But after a box or two, Sherlock had gotten bored and started looking through them, John staying behind to help. Rose only rolled her eyes and carried on helping.

As she waved them off, she went back up the stairs.

"So the numbers are a reference then?" She heard John saying.

"Yes, to books." Sherlock replied.

But knowing John didn't quite understand fully, Rose stated, "To specific pages, and specific words on those pages."

"Right…fifteen and one, that means…?"

"Turn to page fifteen and it's the first word you read." Clarified Sherlock.

"Ok, so what's the message?" asked John.

"Depends on the book." said Rose with a sigh, knowing the long night they had ahead of them.

"That's the cunning of the book code," Said Sherlock, looking equal parts annoyed and awed at such a system. "It had to be something they both owned."

"Well that shouldn't take too long." John commented sarcastically.

And with that they set about the books, looking at page fifteen, and seeing if the first word was in anyway a threat. Sherlock stood to the side, taking books out of a box, John taking out an armful and going to sit at the desk and Rose taking a box and simply sitting on the floor next to it to work.

Dimmock entered the room then, holding what looked like a piece of paper in a plastic bag. He walked over to stand between John and Sherlock - almost stepping on Rose - and showed them the object in his hand.

"We found these at the museum." Getting no response from Sherlock, he turned his hand to John. "Is this your handwriting?"

John took the bag. "We hoped Soo Lin could decipher it for us, ta."

Dimmock just nodded and looked around again. "Anything else I can do?" Though he looked reluctant in saying it.

"Some silence right now would be marvellous." Was Sherlock's light reply.

Dimmock just looked at him a second, before turning to John, who shook his head. Sighing, the young DI turned and left quietly.

As they worked, Rose heard the odd muttering coming from behind the crates.

"Cigarettes." She heard, the tone holding an undercurrent of longing, making her smirk.

And a few minutes later she heard another. "Imagine." Said with not an ounce of longing, and more of a tinge of disdain.

After a few hours, she heard a loud, drown out yawn, easily recognisable as Johns. Standing up, she checked the time, seeing it was closer to five in the morning than four. She stretched her legs and looked around; Sherlock was working just as fast as he usually did, but John was almost collapsing.

Sighing, she went over to him and shook his shoulder. He looked up at her, suddenly awake again.

"Go get some sleep John, you have work in a few hours." She said sternly yet gently, knowing the man was exhausted.

"No, I'm fine." But his eyes were already drooping again even as he said the words.

"John…" She replied, her voice a little more stern.

He sighed, and stood up, giving her a tired smile before making his way to his room. She smiled at him, shook her head and when to the kitchen.

"Coffee, Sherlock?" She offered, getting a short _hmm_ in reply, which she had learned to take as a yes. She flicked the kettle on, and went to the fridge. She poured herself a glass of orange juice - noting that she should pick up some more at some point - and opened the freezer to get some ice - ignoring the severed hand in a plastic bag. The cool drink would keep her awake more than any hot beverage. She downed her drink in one, feeling the kick at once and carried on making Sherlock's coffee.

John woke up late the next morning after only a few hours sleep, and jumped into the shower to get ready for work. He skipped breakfast, and got a cab to the clinic in his hurry to be on time. He worked tiredly all day, though was proud of the fact that he had only fallen asleep once, for five minutes in the break room, before someone woke him up. He even managed to get a date with Sarah - his boss - for that evening. So he was happy, if a little tired, when he got home that afternoon.

But not long before he got home, Rose looked up to see Sherlock leaning over a box, an annoyed and contemplative look on his sharp features. They had been working - with out rest - since they started the night before. Rose had found the monotonous, repetitive work soothing, and that didn't help her stay awake much. But Sherlock, who got increasingly bored and frustrated with the work as time went on, had become louder in his movements, sometimes even throwing books into a box, making a loud noise that would then wake the young woman up a bit.

"What you thinking Sherlock?" She asked, knowing it would help him to get his ideas out in the open.

"A book that every one would own…" He said.

He turned away from her, but seeing that he didn't turn back to the box he was working on, she stood up, and watched what he was doing.

Reaching up on his own book self, he pulled down a large black oxford dictionary, but before he could even open the cover a voice spoke behind him.

"Not going to work." It said tiredly.

He turned to look at her, knowing it was a long shot, but wanting the scene to play out. "And why is that?"

She looked him in the eye, wondering how he could possibly think it would work, when she saw the mischief and expectancy in his eyes. She knew precisely what he was doing, and so gave him what he wanted. "Well apart from the fact that John found a dictionary, that wasn't that one, a few minutes before he went to bed this morning, it would be extremely unlikely that they would both have the exact same dictionary, and that it would be that one that you have in your hands. They would have to be the same publisher, and publish date for the code to still work." She raised an eyebrow at him and folded her arms, showing him that she knew what his game was. He just smirked in reply.

"Good." He drawled.

She rolled her eyes and went to make drinks again. He was actually bored enough that he was starting to test her on her observational skills. _This could get dangerous_, she thought with worry. She wanted to prove she was worth teaching, but she didn't want to cause too much trouble.

Just as she pulled out a cup for Sherlock, John came in the door, so she pulled out another one for him.

"I need some air, we're going gout tonight." She heard Sherlock say.

"Actually, I've got a date." Was John's reply. As Rose walked in the room, she handed Sherlock his coffee, as well as John his tea. Then smirked at John.

"Nice one, Doctor." She said mischievously . He just laughed.

But Sherlock frowned. "What?" He didn't seem to understand.

"It's where two people who like each other go out and have fun." John explained, used to Sherlock's inability to understand social norms.

"That's what I was suggesting." Sherlock said, as though confused as to how they can understand each other, yet be completely wrong.

"No, it wasn't." Replied John "At least, I hope it wasn't." Rose's smirk just grew.

"Where are you taking her then?" She asked, always a sucker for gossip.

"Cinema." He smiled.

"Ugh, dull, boring!" Replied Sherlock, moving to stand in front of John, and taking a bit of paper out of his pocket. "Why not try this? In London for one night only."

Leaning over John's shoulder, she saw the bit of paper Sherlock ripped of a poster the other night. She looked up, again wondering what he was up to.

John chuckled though, and went to hand the paper back to Sherlock. "Thanks, but I don't go to you for dating advise." He said.

Sherlock glanced at Rose, saying all he needed to, and she read it loud and clear.

Wondering if she would regret it, se took the slip of paper from John. "Oh I don't know, looks half decent." She looked up at him, smirk growing

again. "Says effort, not expectant."

John turned a slight shade of pink at her words. "Cinema says expectant?"

She nodded sadly. "And predictable."

John frowned a little. "Well, I suppose…"

"Okay then!" She replied enthusiastically, nudging his arm. He just chuckled again. "Right, I'm going for a shower, god knows I need one at some point today! You go get ready, John, and Sherlock can order the tickets for you."

John looked a little puzzled, but just put it down to them wanting something to do other than look at book after book. As Rose left, John looked to his other flat mate. He was leaning on an empty box, looking quite puzzled. John thought it best to leave him to his thoughts and went to go get ready for his date.

Rose got out of the shower, mind going over what she was about to do; because she knew for sure what Sherlock was up to.

She dressed in a clean pair of black jeans, and a sleeveless, black turtle neck top, complete with her usual jewellery - ring on her necklace, tucked under her top - and her steel toe cap boots. She also knew that it would be cold, and so took out her heavier longer black trench coat that, when she wore it, fell to her calves. _Wearing it now would be a bit silly_, she thought and so hung it on one of the rarely used hooks in the hall.

Satisfied that she was prepared - once again, hoping she _really_ wasn't going to regret this - she went up the stairs. She went to check the fridge, if only to avoid the room of books again - she really didn't want to go back in there.

Sighing, she went to go make a shopping list that she would get round to at some point. Sitting on the sofa, she heard John come in and looked up. She smirked at him wearing a stripy shirt and black jacket. He just threw her a playful glare and turned to Sherlock.

"All done, just go in and give them my name, you'll have your tickets." Said the detective, looking at the screen of John's laptop.

"Alright, thanks. Well, don't wait up!" He replied, turning and heading out to go pick up his date, Rose laughing at his words.

A few minutes after John left, Rose was still looking at her paper, trying to decide if the guys would eat a home cooked meal or not.

"Rose, get your coat. We're going on a date." She turned a little red at the thought of going on a date, but had been expecting the words from her flat mate.

"No, we're not." She replied calmly, not even looking up from her list.

Sherlock was sat at the desk, staring at a blank screen, when he had spoken up. But he had not taken into account that she may know his plans. He had not thought that she may simply say no.

He frowned, _what now?_


	14. Chapter 14

**The Silent Banker**

_A Hypothetical Silence_

A few minutes after she had …well…rejected him, Rose looked up, smiling at what she saw. Sherlock was still sat at the computer, frowning deeply, and looking a little lost.

"Sherlock," She called, and his head snapped up, eyes meeting. "If you want something from somebody, ask for it." She spoke as though she were teaching him. The thought boggled her mind.

He frowned a little more. _Ask? _He was once again reminded that he didn't understand her, but from the tone of her voice it was as though she was trying to teach him something. _A lesson in societal norms? _Oh, how he hated those, he never got them right. "Will you go on a date with me?" He asked, the question more of whether he got the phrase right, rather than the meaning behind the words.

"You may want to revise you definition of date." She suggested.

_But_…"John said-"

"John made an implication which I think you may have missed." She was right there, though he'd never say so. He hadn't caught any implication in John's words at all. "A date is where two people who like each other _romantically_ go out and have fun." She rephrased.

He frowned, he didn't like her like _that_. She was just a flatmate, someone who kept him company on cases. She was just his little puzzle. He quickly rephrased his question.

"Will you go on a hypothetical date with me?" That way they were still undercover, but they both knew where they stood.

At his latest question she laughed a little, mainly at him looking so lost and confused. _Like a small child trying to get the right answer, _she mused.

"It would be my pleasure, Mr Holmes." She said getting up off the sofa.

Happy that the strange lesson was over, he also got up, grabbed his coat and ran out the door to hail a cab. He vaguely noticed a new coat in the hall as he passed it, but paid it no mind. In the cab however, he noticed that Rose was now wearing the coat, a different one from her usual shorter coat.

"You knew." He accused, though she knew it wasn't in much of a serious way.

"Of course I knew! Why else would I recommend John take his girl to the circus. It wasn't because it was a good idea." She gave him a stern look, but he didn't know why.

"How long did you know?" He was curious now, as he usually was around her. He didn't understand her, and therefore couldn't predict what she would do most of the time, but he was getting there - _slowly but surely, _he thought irritably.

"Since you ripped off the corner of that poster."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Well, I didn't know exactly what you were planning, but I knew you were up to something." She said, but his brow only went a little higher. He wanted her to elaborate. _Another test_, she thought dryly. "You don't seem the type to go to a Chinese circus, and we _are_ investigating Chinese smugglers."

He only huffed in reply as they pulled up along side the building. Paying the driver, he got out and actually waited for her, thinking it would only be proper if they were on a "date." He wasn't completely new at all this after all, though apparently new enough to go stock still when she looped her arm through his. Though knowing he would do something like that, she pulled him along, getting him to start moving.

"What are you doing?" He asked, and she held back a chuckle at the slightly panicky undertone to his voice.

"A hypothetical date is only hypothetical to those in on the plan. Anyone else would expect us to actually _act _like we are on a date." She explained.

He thought for a moment, then realised what she had said. "And how would you know?" He asked, curious again.

"Well I have been on dates before, Sherlock, both real and hypothetical. I know how they go." She replied.

This puzzled him more though. "Why would you go on a hypothetical date?" He knew they were on one at the moment, but this was police - ish - work. As they came to the door, he unhooked their arms and opened it for her, getting a small smile for his efforts. It seemed his was learning quick enough. He also had an idea, and instead of letting her hook their arms again, he just guided her, a hand on the small of her back, noting with small, childish vengeance how she tensed up at the contact; he knew she was just as uncomfortable with human contact.

"It's a woman thing." She said, smiling a little.

_A woman thing? _If he had trouble understanding society and how it worked, then _woman things _were completely out of his realm of understanding. He took a little comfort in the fact that most men seemed at a loss at _woman things_ though.

Just as they got to the ticket stand they heard John's confused voice.

"… we only booked two."

"Then I phoned up and got a couple for us as well." Sherlock said. "I'm Sherlock." He said, offering his hand to John's date.

"Rose." She offered with a small smile.

"Umm, this is Sarah." said John looking at them closely. Sherlock shook Sarah's hand, but as he stepped back, Rose looped her arm through his. _They're acting like a couple, _he thought dumbly. _Why? _"I thought you two were staying in tonight?"

"Oh, that's my fault, actually." Rose said. "I saw the poster Sherlock got to show you and thought it would be a good evening… and well, I haven't been to a circus since I was little, and well… it was only here for one night…" She looked so sad, John nearly said it was no problem and they could stay. Then he shook himself, _that's exactly what she wants! They aren't even a couple! _"But its ok, come on, Sherlock… sorry for intruding. Um, enjoy your evening…" She muttered, looking even more sad and dejected.

Sherlock knew what she was doing, and went with it, letting her pull him away from the doctor and his date. But just as they turned around they heard a female voice speak up, making them stop.

"No, wait. I'm sure John doesn't mind, do you John?" She looked at him, a slightly pleading look in her eyes.

John sighed. He was stuck. If he turned them away, Sarah wouldn't forget it and not go out with him again. If he let them stay, bad things were going to happen, he was sure of it. He looked away from Sarah and smiled at his troublesome flatmates.

"Of course. Stay." He plastered a smile on his face, but his eyes were hard as he looked at Rose and Sherlock one by one. "The more the merrier."

Rose immediately brightened up. "Thanks John, you really are a good friend. You wont even know we're here."

John just smiled and guided Sarah into the show room.

As they turned away, Rose looked up to Sherlock grinning.

"Oh, your good." He said in a low voice so only she would hear.

"Oh, I know." She replied cheekily.

He just smirked and followed Johns lead, guiding his "date" into the main room.

They gathered around a marked out circle, John and Sherlock talking quietly about art and day jobs, the women studiously ignoring them. A drum beat started, the crowd quietened down and they all turned to see what was happening.

A woman dressed in mostly red and white slowly made her way to the circle in time to the drum beat, then crossed it to take off a satin sheet, revealing what looked to be an large, oriental cross bow. She loaded the contraption with a large, feathery bolt. Taking a feather from her hair, she let it fall onto a dish, releasing the bolt, sending it sailing towards a man sized board of thick wood.

The crowd jumped at the sudden noise from the impact, and as they clapped, one man took the arrow out of the board. A few seconds later, another performer stepped forward, dressed in what looked like oriental war armour. He was then attached to the board by two other men.

"Classic Chinese escapology act." Sherlock whispered in Roses ear, a little too close for her liking. "The cross bow's on a delicate string. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires."

A loud gong was hit, making Sarah jump, and she discreetly latched herself to John, making him clear his throat, and making Rose smirk as she watched the two.

"She split's the sand bag, the sand pours out, gradually the weight lowers into the bowl." Sherlock narrated, still too close. She became aware of where he was without even looking at him, and she didn't like her personal space being invaded, though she tried not to show it.

The crowd watched as the weight lowered, inch by inch, and the man chained to the board struggled and grunted with the effort of trying to escape. As the weight got dangerously close to the bowl, Rose's eyes widened a little and she chewed her lip in anticipation. Just as the bolt was released, the warrior fell to the floor and both women let out a relived breath. John just shook his head and commented on how it was a close one.

However, as she went to clap her hands with the rest of the crowd, Rose felt a small tug of her sleeve, and looked up to see Sherlock pulling her into the shadows. They slipped away unnoticed, using the bustle in the small, relived crowd as cover for their get away.

Finding their way back stage, they looked around for anything they could use as evidence. Sherlock pulled back a curtain so he could see the performance and saw a man using two long strips of material to hang in mid air, doing tricks and such for the audience.

"Well, well." He heard a door close however, and grabbed Rose by the arm, pulling them behind a rack of costumes.

Peeking through the coloured clothes, they saw the hostess enter the area and pick up her phone, but they had accidentally moved a hanger on the rack, and she looked up, moments after they ducked down, hiding from sight.

Hearing her move away to another room, Sherlock got out of the cramped hiding place, uncomfortable from being so tall and being in such a small space. Looking around he tried to find out something useful. Rose however had not moved, having found a bag of half a dozen yellow spray paints. Picking one up, she stood and went over to the light, seeing it was the same yellow as the graffiti.

"Sherlock." She called in a whisper and as he turned to her, she threw the can to him. He caught it, looked at it for a minute, then turned to the mirror, spraying a line onto its reflective surface. She saw a half smile tug at his lips in the mirror, but then caught movement in her peripheral vision. Turning, she saw the warrior from earlier move towards Sherlock with a machete, just as he muttered "found you."

"Sherlock!" She exclaimed quietly, warning him of the man behind him, and just in time it seemed, as Sherlock spun out of the way of a slash of the blade. Turning back, Sherlock hit the back of the mans hand, knocking the blade to the floor. He kicked it into a dark corner, but the time taken to do that had left him vulnerable to attack, and the man kicked his feet from under him, dropping the detective to the floor.

The warrior leant over Sherlock to punch him in the face, but as he drew back his fist, something large and heavy hit him across the back, sending him flying to the floor. Sherlock looked up to see Rose - looking both scared and angry - with the remains of a broken chair she had picked up from the dresser unit. Throwing the splintered wood to the floor, she helped Sherlock up, only for them both to be tackled, causing all three of them to fly threw the curtains and land on the floor of the main hall.

The warrior, being the first to recover, pulled a large knife from his belt and started towards Sherlock's crumpled form on the floor - he had taken most of the impact. But Rose, seeing her friends situation again, leapt forward, only to get pushed back, earning a slice across her cheek along the way.

John snapped out of his shock then, realising that both his friends were in danger - one having been pushed away, the other being winded - rushed forward to take on the warrior, only to get kicked in the ribs, sending him flying into the stage with a groan of pain.

The warrior had finally made his way over to Sherlock and leant over to stab him in the torso, when Sarah, who had got hold of a large metal rod - from where she got it, no one knew - ran up to the warriors back and beat him repeatedly with it. He fell to the floor with a cry of pain, muffled by his mask.

Sherlock, seeing the man on the floor, pulled off his slipper, revealing the black flower sitting in a black circle, tattooed on the mans heel. The detective let out a cough through his smile and got up off the hard floor. Looking around her saw Rose help John up, asking him if he was alright, to which he nodded clutching his ribs. The women helped John move quicker out of the building as they made their escape.


	15. Chapter 15

**The Silent Banker**

_A Silent Abduction_

As they got out of the cab that had just pulled up outside the Yard, the four of them got out, John paying the fair to the man driving.

"You go on." Said Rose to the others, pointing to her cheek. "I'm going to go clean up."

"I'll keep you company." Said Sarah. She had refused to go home when John offered and had only given him a hard stare when he tried to insist.

"Thanks." Said Rose, knowing that it would be her to fill in the woman on what was going on.

"You sure you'll be alright?" Said John to his date.

She just took his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. "I'll be fine." And with that the women made their way to the bathrooms.

"You should let me take a look at that for you." Said Sarah, pointing to the younger woman's face.

"It's alright, I can manage. Thanks anyway."

As they walked through the door, Rose went first, checking the stalls in the small bathroom. Finding them all empty, she turned to lock the door. The last thing they needed was to be interrupted. Taking some paper towels, Rose ran them under the cold tap and started to wipe away the dried blood that had trickled down her face.

Sarah walked over next to the woman, seeing it was a lost cause to try to help the independent young woman. Pushing herself up to sit on the counter next to her, she asked, "So what is going on?"

Sighing, Rose looked at her self in the mirror, noting the dark marks under her eyes. "Sherlock's a Consulting Detective. Sometimes he helps the police, sometimes he has private clients. But long story short, he accidentally uncovered an international gang of smugglers, who have had something stolen from them and they want it back. They had it narrowed down to two of their haulers, but didn't know which one had it. So they were both threatened…and then killed." She explained, going quiet at the last bit.

Sarah took a moment to take in the information. "And you and John help Sherlock with this, right?"

"Yes. We found a woman who was also being threatened, but we found her first. Then the killer did." Rose sighed heavily, remembering the events of the other night. "God, I need a cigarette." She muttered.

Trying to distract the young woman from her cravings, Sarah asked another question. "So, how are you going to catch them?"

"We have a message from them to their people. It's written in code though, but if we find out what it means, we're one step closer to finding them." Rose explained, pulling the skin of her cheek, trying to decide if the cut would need further attention. "What do you think?"

The doctor leaned forward, a medical eye examining the cut. "Should be fine, just try not to open it again, or make it any worse. How are you going to break the code?"

Rose let out a humourless chuckle, remembering the state of their living room. "It's based on a book, find the right book, we can crack it." She threw the bloody paper towels in the bin, she turned to the other woman who was jumping off the counter. "You should see the state of our living room!" She said with a tired smile.

As the two women left the loos, they saw the men come round the corner, both looking very unhappy.

Falling into their fast paced walk towards the exit, Rose looked to John. "Dimmock?" She questioned, knowing the answer. He just curled his lip in annoyance at the once again uncooperative DI.

Back at the flat, Rose threw her coat over the back of the sofa and went to put the kettle on, making a brew for everyone and getting herself a glass of water, since they were out of orange juice. This didn't help her mood.

Sherlock went to the desk, and John sat in one of the chairs. As Sarah entered the living room, she saw all the books. She let out a low whistle. "Wow, you really weren't kidding , were you?"

John, seeing this as a bad thing, started to get up and pick up some books to stack them, trying to make the place a little more presentable, but Rose interrupted him. "John, leave them, she's on about the amount of books that are here." She said from the kitchen, pouring the steaming water into three cups.

John trying to change the subject, said, "Well, they'll be back in China by tomorrow."

"No, they wont leave without what they came for." Replied Sherlock.

Rose brought in the drinks for Sarah and John, getting a "thanks" from each.

But Sarah noticed that as Rose brought in Sherlock's he barely even acknowledged her, sparing her only a cold glance. Looking closer, she noticed they were completely different with each other.

"Sorry, are you two actually…?" She asked, finger pointing from one to the other.

"Oh, god no!" Said Rose, having picked up on Johns speech patterns after living with him a little while. "I'd kill him." She said, only half joking, but the rest of the room caught the non-joking side to it. They looked round to her, and she blinked only just realising what she had said. John looked shocked, and Sherlock looked a little taken aback and a little puzzled, wondering what he had done wrong.

Rubbing her eyes, she sighed. "Sorry! Sorry… I haven't slept in twenty four hours and I _really_ need a bloody cigarette."

John knew she would only get worse, and so picked up her cigarettes and lighter off the side and handed them to her. She threw him a grateful smile - making her face hurt from the cut - and took her little boxes, lighting up on the sofa.

"We need to find their hide out, the rendezvous." Sherlock said, taking off his coat and gong to look at the pictures on the wall. "Some where in this message. It must tell us."

Sarah looked at the two men working, and looked back to the young woman on the sofa. "Well, maybe I should leave you to it then." She said.

The next few seconds we're a jumble of John protesting the idea and Sherlock agreeing. There was a pause. "He's kidding, please stay, if you'd like." Said John.

Sarah looked between the two men, and thought she should make herself useful. "Is it just me or is anyone else starving?"

Rose heard Sherlock mutter "oh god" while he faced the other way, earning a disapproving look from John, who then went to check the fridge.

While John raided the kitchen for something to feed Sarah with, conspicuously blocking body bits and experiments from her line of sight, Sarah went to have a look at the board, Sherlock having abandoned it in favour of looking at papers on the desk.

"So this is what you do, you and John, you solve puzzles for a living?" She sounded quite intrigued, but Rose knew Sherlock would see it as dumbing down on what they did.

"Consulting Detective." He corrected.

"Right, Rose said." She went over to see what Sherlock was doing, Rose just watching it all from the sofa. "What are these squiggles?"

"There're numbers, in an ancient Chinese dialect." He explained, as though it were obvious.

Sarah picked up on his tone. "Oh, well, of course, I should have known that." She picked up the bag of photos they had taken to show Soo Lin, getting a rather annoyed look from Sherlock. "So these numbers, they're a cipher?"

"Yes."

"And each pair of numbers is a word?" She continued.

Sherlock looked up at her. "Yes, how did you know that?"

"Well, two words have already been translated. Here look." She showed him the photos.

"John!" He called suddenly. "John, come look at this!" John and Rose looked up suddenly, hearing the excitement in his voice. They went over to see what he had found. "Soo Lin, at the museum. She started to translate the code for us."

"Must have been when I went to bolt the door…" Muttered Rose.

"We didn't see it!" They looked at the photo, Sherlock having taken it out of its protective bag. "Nine mill…"He read out.

"That mean millions?" John asked, Rose nodding.

"Nine million quid...for what?" Said Sherlock, thinking aloud. He suddenly got up and grabbed his coat and scarf, putting them on again.

"Um, where are you going?" Asked John.

"The the museum, the restoration room. Oh, we must have been staring right at it!" Exclaimed Sherlock.

"At what?" Replied John.

"The book, she must have had it on the table…" Said Rose, realising what Sherlock was going on about.

Sherlock then ran out of the flat, leaving the three of them behind.

John just sighed and turned to the woman. "Anyone for a take away?"

"I'm going to finish this and head in I think." Replied Rose, holding up hr mostly burned cigarette.

"Your welcome to join us." Offered John, smiling.

"No, you two enjoy your time, Sherlock wont be back for a while, and I'm absolutely shattered!" She replied. "I'll finish my drink and my cigarette, then turn in."

"Ok then, I'll go order." He turned to the kitchen table, full of Sherlock's science things. "Umm.."

"Eat off trays?" Suggested Sarah.

"Yeah..." He replied with a sheepish look.

Rose went to sit on the sofa again, flicking ash into an ashtray on the way, while Sarah looked around the kitchen for trays, plates, and cutlery.

As John went down the stars to get the number off of the menu sitting on the hall table, he saw someone at the door, and a knock soon followed.

Sherlock ran out into the street, and stumbled into a German couple looking at a book in his haste.

Apologising - in German - he carried on, and tried to hail a cab to no avail. Sighing, he jogged down the street a little bit, trying to hail another. After a few tries he started to pace, waiting for another cab to pass by.

Looking around he saw a pair of foreigners across the street, consulting a London A-Z. Turning away, he looked for a cab again, growling in frustration when another passed him by.

Then he froze. _A book everyone would own…everyone in London…_

He ran back to the German couple, snatching their book and turning away from them.

He turned to page fifteen and saw the first word; _Deadmans_.

"Dead man…" _It fits…_

He took out the photo of the full message, translating as fast as he could.

"Nine mill for jade pin, dragon den, black tramway." He read out.

Back at the flat, Sherlock ran up the stairs and burst into the kitchen breathing heavily from running. "John! John I've got it!" No one in the kitchen, he turned to the living room, his words stopping in their track. "It was the London A-…"

On the windows, in yellow spray paint, was the cipher, large enough to take up a window per numeral.

"Sherlock…?" He heard in the corner of the room.


	16. Chapter 16

**The Silent Banker**

_A Silent Scream_

Hearing the knock, Rose frowned and went to the window, seeing a man dressed in full black, but also seeing the two men hiding against the wall, either side of the door, so as to not be seen by who ever answers it. She stubbed out her cigarette quickly.

"Sarah." She called out in a quiet voice, going to the kitchen and taking the woman's arm, pulling her into the living room. "Get behind the boxes and don't move - don't even make a sound - until Sherlock gets back. And make sure its him first, ok?" She said quickly as she moved.

Sarah frowned, but noting the controlled panic in the young woman's voice, nodded, wondering what was happening.

Rose saw she didn't quite understand the situation though. "Promise me!" She demanded fiercely in a low voice.

Sarah picked up on the urgency of her words, and knew that something was very, _very_ wrong. She nodded, and ducked behind the boxes.

They heard a thud from downstairs. _John, _thought Rose, blinking away tears. She knew they would think something was up if she was knelt talking to a box, and so hurried into the kitchen, acting as though she were setting the trays, just as Sarah had been doing.

Sarah held as still as she could behind the box, trying to be very small. She had heard the thump from downstairs, and she prayed John would be alright, holding back tears of worry and fear.

But she felt them spill over, running down her cheeks as she heard Rose in the kitchen. "What are you doing?" She heard, and realised the woman was acting, trying to save a woman she had only met that night. But whether t was really good acting or it was real, Sarah still heard the fear in her voice.

She put a hand over her mouth as she heard the small scream of the brave young woman. Shaking, she remembered that Rose had said to not move until Sherlock came back, and she was thankful for the warning, as, after a few seconds of silence, she heard someone enter the living room, crossing the room containing so many books and boxes. She held her breath to try to be quieter, and heard the sound of something being sprayed.

She sat like that, shaking, with a hand over her mouth, breathing through her nose as tears flooded down her face, running over her hand.

The door slamming shut made her jump and she heard running on the stairs. She was about to get up, but remembered Rose's warning.

_And make sure its him first._

She heard him call out to them, and breathed a shaky sigh of relief as she heard the detectives voice.

"Sherlock…?" She called out shakily. In any other situation, she may have been ashamed at how weak and frightened she sounded just then.

Sherlock spun toward the small sound, seeing Sarah stand up from behind a box.

"What happened?" He demanded, but she only started to cry.

Through her tears, she tried to explain. "John went to order food, and then…" _sob_ "Rose grabbed my arm and told me to hide, and to stay there until you came back…" _sob_ "They took them, Sherlock! Oh god, what if they're-"

He wouldn't let her say it, and so when she started to, he crossed the room and grabbed her upper arms, cutting her off. "If they wanted to kill them, they would have done it here and a dead hostage in no use to anyone." He said quickly, hoping to calm her down a bit, but she only started crying harder.

Frowning, he shook her a little. Dealing with crying women was not his forte, and he really didn't have the time to learn at the moment. "Calm down!" He snapped at her, making her hiccup in shock, stopping her sobs. _It worked… _

"Go to Scotland yard. Go find Detective Inspector Dimmock, give him this." He gave her the photo with his translations on it as he instructed her on what to do. "Tell him what happened and make sure to tell him about the cipher on the windows." She frowned and turned to se the yellow spray paint on the windows, but he let go of her arms and went to the door again.

"Where are you going?" She cried.

He looked back, a stormy look in his usually frosty eyes. "I'm going to get them back." He said darkly.

Rose woke up to a sore head and a flickering light behind her closed lids. She tried to move her hand up to her head, only to find both hands bound by a thick rope behind her.

Snapping her eyes open, she found she was in a dark tunnel, the odd barrel of fire dotted around to provide light. She also found the her hands were tied behind her back, and that she was sat on a wooden chair.

Looking around she saw John also tied to his own chair sitting about a meter away.

"John!" She shouted out to him.

Hearing his name, he stirred and woke up to find his hands bound and that the younger of his two flatmates was in a similar predicament. Then he thought of Sarah, and looked around. Finding that she wasn't there he looked fearfully to Rose. Seeing the emotion in his eyes, she knew what he was thinking, and hoped that the woman was alright. However, she knew that panicking would not help at all, and so she winked at him, letting him know that Sarah was safe. _Hopefully_, she thought.

"A book is like a magic garden, carried in your pocket." They heard, and their heads snapped up to see the hostess from the circus step into the light. She was dressed in full black, and wearing a pair of wide, dark shades.

Lifting the glasses onto her forehead, she continued. "Chinese proverb, Mr Holmes."

They frowned, and John spoke up, sounding quite confused. "I…I'm not Sherlock Holmes."

She just smiled. "Forgive me if I do not take your word for it." She reached forward, and put a hand into the inside of his jacket pocket, pulling something out. "Debit card, name of S. Holmes."

"Yes, that's not actually mine. He leant me that the other day." John explained, Rose still frowning.

"A cheque for five thousand pounds, made out in the name of Mr Sherlock Holmes."

"Yes," Said John, remembering the scene from the bank. "I was just holding that for him."

"Tickets from the theatre, collected by you, name of Holmes." She said in a voice that was getting annoyed with his continuous denial.

"Yes, I realise what this looks like, but I'm not him." He looked up, to see her smiling and shaking her head.

"We heard it from your own mouth!" She insisted.

"What?" Questioned John, his head throbbing from being knocked out.

"I am Sherlock Holmes, and I always work alone." She told him, earning John an annoyed look from Rose.

"I suppose I can't convince you I was doing an impression, then." Said John in a tired voice, realising that he wasn't going to change her mind.

He looked up and saw a gun in his face then, and jerked away on a reflex, trying to get away from the weapon. Rose struggled against the rope, but only ended up burning her wrists. She didn't care and carried on, trying to find someway of helping her friend.

"I am Shan." The woman said.

He looked up, still obviously uncomfortable with how close the gun was. "Your General Shan?"

"Three times we tried to kill you and your companions, Mr Holmes. What does it tell up when an assassin can't shoot straight?"

"You need a better shooter?" Came the snide remark from Rose.

Shan just looked to her, smiled maliciously, and cocked the gun. She put it right between Johns eyes, and looking at Rose, whose face had paled. Shan squeezed the trigger, a second after John squeezed his eyes shut.

They all heard the click as the gun didn't fire, and John breathed out in relief, as did Rose.

"It tells you that they aren't really trying." Shan said. She replaced the cartridge and cocked the gun again. "No blank bullets now." She told then happily. "If we wanted to kill you Mr Holmes, we would have done it by now."

"He's not Sherlock, it's not him!" Cried Rose. She was worried about her friend with a gun to his face.

Shan just looked up at her and smiled again. Rose saw the spark of an idea in her eyes and swallowed down her uneasiness.

Turning back to John, she said, "We just wanted to make you inquisitive. Do you have it?"

"Have what?" Said John, not understanding what she wanted.

"The treasure." She hissed in reply.

"I don't know what your talking about." Replied John, and Rose could hear the slight wobble in his voice.

"I would prefer to make certain." Said Shan with a smile. She lowered the gun and walked over to Rose, who pushed back in her chair all she could, trying to distance herself from the woman. "I would think you wouldn't want you little friend here hurt."

"Get away from her." Said John strongly. A gun in his face may scare him, but if someone threatened his friends, it just made him angry.

"You have put up quite a fight when meeting our man, Little Miss." Said Shan to Rose. "But not with out leaving unscathed."

Shan raised her hand to brush a finger along Roses cut cheek to prove her point, but Rose was always a fighter, and so tried to bite the woman. Shan moved her hand away quickly though, and then slapped Rose in the face.

Rose turned her head from the force of the blow, but didn't cry out; she wouldn't give her the satisfaction. Feeling the blood trickle down her face - Shan had reopened the cut - she turned her head back to give Shan and unblinking and icy glare.

Shan just laughed though and turned to John. "Everything in the west has it's price. The price for her pain to cease, is information."

Johns gaze flickered to Rose and she saw the fear in his eyes; they both knew that they had no information to give.

"Where's the hair pin?" Asked Shan sharply.

"What?" Asked John, struggling to get out of his bonds.

"The empress hair pin, worth nine million pounds." Replied Shan, temper shortening.

"I don't have any hair pin." Insisted John. The result was Shan grabbing a fist full of Rose's hair and yanking her head back painfully. She didn't move, knowing to struggle would only make it worse, only letting out the smallest hiss of pain. The young woman tried to focus on breathing steadily.

"We already had a buyer in the east, and then one of our men got greedy and stole it." Shan said, raising her voice.

"I don't know anything about any hairpin! I swear!" Shouted John angrily.

Shan let go of Rose's hair and let a grimace pass over her features. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a wide length of material, wrapping the ends around each hand. Rose knew what was going to happen and made sure to move her tongue out of the way of her teeth, so she didn't bite it in pain because she knew that whatever Shan did, she wouldn't make a sound of pain.

"We know you know where it is! You have been looking for it Mr Holmes!" Shan said calmly to him, and the coolness of her voice sent shivers down John's spine.

He looked her in the eye and said in a tone that left no room for doubt, "I am not Sherlock Holmes."

Shan curled her lip at him and moved round to stand behind Rose, who had shut her eyes in anticipation of what was to come. Making sure that the collar of her top was pushed as far down as it could go, Shan smiled at the sight of the purple and blue skin on the younger woman's neck.

Then with the speed of a cobra, Shan wrapped the fabric around the woman's neck and pulled it tight, though not tight enough to stop her breathing. No, it was just tight enough to cause the woman agonising pain.

She felt the fabric brush over her face and braced herself. But nothing could prepare the woman for the pain that rippled through her at the tightening of the fabric. All her muscles screamed out as she jerked against the chair in pain. Her wrists felt warm with blood that had the chance to flow freely as her flesh was worn away. Her head snapped back, and her mouth opened to let out the piercing scream that rippled n the chest, but she caught it in her throat just before it broke free. Her eyes pricked with tears from the strain of her efforts.

John watched in horror as the fabric tightened around his friends throat, and her head snapped back as she opened her mouth in what would have been a blood chilling scream, except there was no sound.

And that chilled John more than any scream ever had.

"Please! Stop this! I don't know anything!" He insisted, seeing the tears that had started to fall from the corners of his friends eyes, running down her face, salt water mixing with blood as they ran into the cut.

Shan held strong few a few more seconds then let the material hang loose around Rose's neck, then unwrapped it and walked over to a large contraption covered by a sheet. Rose brought he head up and stretched her neck, swallowing her pain, breathing heavily. Then her eye caught the object covered by a sheet. Rose thought it looked familiar, and then realised what it was.

"No…" She whispered, eyes widening in fear.

Shan turned back to John. "You hold up well, Mr Holmes. You can withstand seeing your friend in a lot of pain. We could go on all night, but I'm getting rather bored now."

She pulled the sheet off to reveal the cross bow from the performance. John went pale at the sight of it. _She couldn't…._

"But I wonder if you can stand to have her blood on your hands?" Said Shan in a curious voice, as though it were some silly experiment, testing to see what colour would be made from mixing two different paints.

The reminder of an experiment lead Rose to think about Sherlock, and her thoughts started to catch up to reality…

John looked towards Shan again, trying to convince her of the truth. "Please! I'm not Sherlock Holmes! I don't know anything about any pin!"

"Lies will get you into trouble, Mr Holmes!" Said Shan, and she looked towards two men in masks, nodding towards Rose. They moved forward and picked up her chair, moving her in front of the crossbow.

"Ladies and gentlemen, from the moonlit shores of NW01, I give you, Mr Holmes pretty assistant, in a death defying act!" Shan taunted, looking at John. She went over to the crossbow and loaded it with a single, blunt bolt.

"No! Please…please…" John begged.

Shan took out a knife and showed it to John, the blade glinting in the firelight.

"I'm not Sherlock Holmes, I don't have any pin! Please, you have to believe me!" He shouted, trying to get through to her.

She looked him in the eye, pleading eyes meeting cold, uncaring ones.

"I think you're lying." She said with finality, and she thrust her hand in the air, splitting the bag of sand, starting the decent of the weight.

Rose saw the bag split and heard John pleading for her life again. She looked up, giving him a small, sad smile.

"John." She called, making him look at her, his eyes swimming in fear. "It's ok."

He saw the look in her eyes and knew what it was instantly; he had seen it so many times in his time in Afghanistan, trying to fix those who couldn't be fixed. He knew what it was and it scared him more than any gun could.

She had thought about everything that was going on. How John was pleading for her life; how Sarah would wait until Sherlock got back.

How Sherlock had gone to the museum, and wouldn't be back for a while. She knew that by the time he got back, translation in hand as she knew he would have it, it would be too late. She had expected something a little less dramatic, but then thought about the Holmes brothers, and a ghost of a smile crossed her lips, wondering why she expected any less.

"No…" Muttered John, his voice becoming louder suddenly with desperation. "No!"

She looked away from his knowing gaze, ashamed that he knew her thoughts.

Because he knew. He knew what was going through her mind, and he knew the look in her eyes.

It was the look of acceptance.


	17. Chapter 17

**The Silent Banker**

_A Silent Saviour_

Sarah quickly pulled herself together and grabbed her coat, about to head out of the door, when a flash of silver caught her eye; Rose's cigarettes and lighter. Quickly, she grabbed them, convincing herself that Rose would need them when she got out of this mess. _When, not if._

With that thought, she ran down the stairs and out the door, throwing up a hand to hail a cab. She was the only one who could help them now Sherlock had run after them, and she would be damned if she just sat and cried while they needed help.

Shan leant forward, placing a small black origami flower on the lap of the silent woman.

John knew that time was running out, and in his anger and fear he just shouted. "I'm not Sherlock Holmes!"

Shan just turned to him. "I don't believe you." She said simply.

"You should, you know." Came a new voice in the dark tunnel, making John and Rose both look up in hope, and making general Shan turn toward the voice, gun raised and ready to shoot. "Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him."

John let out a sigh of relief, but it was short lived as he was reminded that time was running out. Rose didn't seem to care though, he noticed. There was a new light in her eyes. _Hope_; that they would get out alive, that Sherlock would save them, that it would be alright. How she came to that conclusion, John didn't know, but a small voice whispered in his head, _it's Sherlock Holmes._

They saw a shadow move in the tunnel. "How would you describe me John? Resourceful? Dynamic?" They could hear the smile in his voice as he said the last one. "Enigmatic?"

"Late?" Replied John.

"A sod?" Threw in Rose lightly.

In the shadows, Sherlock frowned at her input and deciding to ignore the comment, he got on with it. "That's a semi-automatic, if you fire it, the bullet will travel up to a thousand meters per second." He waited for her reply, watching the man approaching from the shadows. He saw a metal pole and decide to take a little inspiration from John's date.

"Well?" Shan said, wanting to know what his point was.

He leapt forward then, whacking the man over the head with the heavy metal, causing him to drop to the floor unconscious, then leapt back into the cover of the shadows.

"Well," He started to reply. "The curvature of these walls is nearly four meters, if you miss, the bullet will ricochet. It could hit anyone." He told her, darkening his tone towards the end. "It could even bounce off and hit you."

John saw the flicker of fear in Shan's eyes, knowing her weapon was not as intimidating as it had first seemed. Then a tall shadow leapt toward a barrel of fire, knocking it over and putting the fire out with the force of it, making the tunnel a lot darker.

John saw Shan make a run for it, but Rose felt a presence behind her, trying to untie the ropes at her wrists.

But Sherlock was distracted from his task by a strip of material that suddenly wrapped around his neck, cutting off his air.

Rose guessed what had happened by the jerking shadows and the gasping sounds coming from her friend. "Sherlock!" She called out, trying to turn to see what was happening.

John saw what was happening, and tried to move forward in his chair, but only ended up going a few feet before falling down next to the crossbow. He saw the weight get closer and closer to its mark, so he tried to do what he could.

And so, kicking the contraption, just as the weight nudged the bowl, the string let the bolt fly, grazing Rose's bare arm and sending the sailing length of wood into the gut of the man strangling Sherlock.

Sherlock felt the force behind the fabric lesson, and heard the man crash to the floor, letting him pull the cloth from his neck easily. He stood there for a second, looking at the scene before him.

John lay on the floor, tired to a chair, panting heavily and trying to smile at Rose, who sat on her chair, not doing much. Next to him, lay a dead Chinese man, a bolt through his stomach. A voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"You alright back there, Sherlock?" Said Rose lightly, as if she hadn't just been kidnapped and tortured for information that they didn't have. Her voice was beyond croaky, and very rough, but she spoke anyway, knowing that it needed to be done.

"I'm good." He replied just as lightly, reaching down to undo the bloody rope at her wrists. His voice was a little rough from his fight with the man, but was not any worse than it was at Soo Lin's place. "And yourself?"

She chuckled, the sound turning into a painful cough. "Just peachy." She looked to John then, concern lacing her tone. "How you doing, John?"

John looked up from his place on the floor, taking in Rose's concerned face, and the conversation between his two impossible, insane flatmates.

He just cracked up. He laughed and didn't care that he was tired to a chair, lying in the mud with a dead smuggler not far away. He just laughed.

"I think John's lost it." Rose said to Sherlock, just as he undid the last of the bonds holding her in place. She reached out her arms, stretching them as much as possible, feeling the wound on her arm protest. Sighing she looked at the wound and looked to her wrists. They were bloody and raw, but not bleeding anymore, unlike the wound on her arm. With a heavy sigh, she carefully took off her bloody and wrecked bandanna and tied it over the wound on her arm, stopping the flow of blood until she could get proper attention.

Done taking care of herself she turned to see Sherlock straightening his scarf and smoothing out his clothes. She just rolled her eyes at him, offering a small smile which he returned with his own cold half smile.

She went to help pick John up, setting the chair straight and undoing the ropes on his own wrists. Sherlock noticed with a hit to his ego, that she undid Johns ropes faster than he had hers.

John got up from his chair, his laughing having died down when Rose picked up his chair. He saw Rose stand there smiling at him, and he just stepped forward and hugged her.

The sudden hug surprised Rose, and she stood very still for a moment before relaxing her posture and hugging John back.

Letting her go, he took the young woman's bare upper arms - being mindful of the material acting as a bandage - and looked in her eyes.

"Don't do that again." He said sternly.

_Defiantly a big brother_, she thought fondly. "Damn!" She replied, giving her usual sarcastic response complete with matching smirk. "There goes my plans for next week!" He just squeezed her arms and gave her a stern look. She sighed, knowing what he meant, and nodded in defeat.

Sherlock watched the two of them with interest, wondering what she had done to warrant such a response. He'd get the full story from John later.

Out side they walked past several police cars, DI Dimmock standing in front of one of them.

Rose saw Sherlock go up to him, and thought she would see what he had to say. John just carried on walking at a slightly slower pace, knowing that they would catch up.

"We'll just slip away, no need to mention us in any reports." Sherlock said lowly.

"Mr Holmes-" Dimmock started, but he was cut off by the consultant.

"I have high hopes for you Inspector. A glittering career."

Dimmock just sighed, and reluctantly replied, "I go where you point me."

Sherlock just smiled, eyes widening as the word passed his lips. "Exactly."

Dimmock just sighed, but as they turned away he spoke again. "What about her? She needs medical attention." He pointed to Rose, seeing her bloodied face, wrists and arm.

She just smiled. "I'll have John patch me up at home." Sherlock smiled internally, knowing she was blatantly lying to the DI.

"Sure?" She nodded, and he carried on. "Well aright then. The woman who came in, Sarah Sawyer, she said to give you this." He put his hand in his pocket, pulling out her cigarettes and lighter. She grinned, eyes lighting up at the sight. "I told her to go home, but don't be surprised if you find her at your flat." He said as she light up, breathing out a large puff of smoke.

Sherlock nodded, and turned away, but Rose decided hat the DI deserved a little more than that, even if he was a little uncooperative at times. She switched her cigarette to her left hand and - noting the bloody prints on the white stick - wiped her hand on the leg of her trousers a few times.

"Thanks." She said simply, holding out the relatively clean hand. Dimmock just looked surprised, and took the offered limb with a gloved hand, shaking it.

After their hands dropped, Rose turned and ran after Sherlock, who had picked up his pace and they met John at the curb a few minutes later. Hailing a cab, the three of them headed home.


	18. Chapter 18

**The Silent Banker**

_The Silence_

Walking through the door of 221B, Rose headed straight for the kitchen pulling out four mugs and started to make tea for them all and coffee for Sherlock.

Sherlock went to the living room and went to collapse on the sofa but soon caught himself as he saw Sarah asleep on the long piece of furniture.

He huffed and called quietly. "John, your date is on the sofa."

John walked into the living room, seeing Sherlock looking at the sofa puzzled and as though he wasn't sure what to do, and Sarah lying on said sofa. John just chuckled, "Then your going to have to sit somewhere else Sherlock."

Sherlock frowned, but smelled the coffee in the kitchen. He went to go sit at the table, after clearing off his experiments, not wanting them to be wrecked by spilt drinks. John soon followed, and pulled out a chair as Rose put drinks on the table for them, not pouring one for Sarah, in favour of letting her sleep.

"Sit down, Rose." He said motioning to the chair, and going to the living room to get something. She sat down, knowing that it was needed and arguing would only prolong the uncomfortable experience. Sighing, she took a sip of her tea, letting the hot drink burn away the roughness of her throat.

John came back to the kitchen, green first aid box in hand. Putting it on the table, he took out an antibacterial wipe, and started to deal with the cut of her face, wiping away the dried blood. He worked quickly and gently and soon he was putting a couple of butterfly stitches over the cut.

"So nine mill…" He started.

"Nine million, yes." Said Sherlock.

"Nine mill for jade pin, black dragon, tramway." Finished Rose, having been shown the photo and the translations on the way home.

"An instruction to all their London operatives." Explained Sherlock. "A message, what they were trying to recover."

"What? A jade pin?" Said John, glancing over to Sherlock, as he started to undo the makeshift bandage, putting the bloody material on the table.

"A jade pin worth nine million pounds, yes." Confirmed Sherlock. "It told them to bring it to the tramway."

"But hang on," said John, looking confused. "A hair pin? Worth nine million pounds?"

"Apparently."

"Why so much?" Asked John, astounded that a hair accessory could cost so much.

"Depends who owned it." Rose said, taking a sip of her tea. As she did, John checked her wrists.

"I'll wrap up your wrists as well." He told her. "You'll need to change them in the morning."

She groaned at the added medical attention. "Can't I just take some bandages and do it myself?" She looked at him hopefully.

He thought for a moment. "Hmm, I suppose. As long as you do it properly."

She gave him a bright smile and downed the rest of her tea. "Well, I'm off to bed." She got up, put her cup in the sink and went to the door, picking up the bloodied bandana and a couple of bandages on her way, but as she walked through the frame, she turned to her two friends sat at the kitchen table. Hearing her pause they looked up to see her looking more vulnerable than either had ever seen her, including half and hour ago, when she had been tied to a chair and had been tortured. "Thanks, both of you." She said quietly.

John just smiled, Sherlock giving no reaction, as always. "Don't worry about it." Said the doctor.

"But, really," She insisted. "Thank you."

"Night Rose." Smiled John.

"G'night guys." She replied, going off to her room.

As he heard her door close, Sherlock looked up to his doctor friend. "John, I want your opinion on something…"

Closing her door, Rose turned to her room, the silence ringing out louder than any word. Sighing, trying to repress the emotions creeping up on her, she crossed the room and turned on her music, the rhythmic tones of an acoustic guitar softly filling the room as she did so.

She got ready for bed falling asleep relatively quick, but she soon found her dreams were full of images of fire and the darkness, complete with a suffocating feeling of loss and a choking pain.

Waking with a sudden jolt, she sat up in her bed, wiping away tears before they ran into the cut on her cheek.

Checking her phone, she saw she had only been asleep for a couple of hours, and was still very tired. So she went upstairs and got a glass of water from the kitchen, going back down to her room, having finished the cool drink mostly by the time she got back.

On entering her room, she saw one of her most treasured things, bloody and discarded on the side of the table. It was the final little crack in the dam keeping her emotions from flooding her mind, and suddenly she heard a loud smash and realised she had thrown the glass at the opposite wall in her anger. She slid down the closed door, sobbing like she hadn't done in years, feeling everything from the past few days collapse around her. For the first time in who knows how long, she just cried, letting it all out.

She thought about everything that had hurt over the past few years; both her brothers leaving, their pets dying one by one, the argument with her parents, moving out, coming to London to find her brother didn't actually care, wondering if he ever did, the frustration of not finding a job and having bills to pay piling up faster than dust, wondering if she were to be arrested in a drugs bust, having a stranger kidnapped and having to find him with help from another stranger, seeing a man die in front of her eyes, finding Van Coon dead in his apartment, having Soo Lin Yao murdered just meters from her as soon as she turned her back, being kidnapped and tortured, and nearly being killed herself.

And as she sat on the cold floor, the draft breathing against her skin through the gap under the door, she found herself wondering, _is it all worth it? _

John had gone to bed shortly after Rose had, and Sherlock was sat at the desk, Rose's laptop in front of him, trying to find out its secrets. He only felt a fraction of the exhaustion that his worn out flat mates felt, and so decided he could afford a few hours of work put towards trying to break into the locked laptop.

The puzzle infuriated him, but at the same time, he loved a challenge more than anything. He knew that he wouldn't give up until he worked it out, but after half an hour, he decided that he need to think better.

He went to the kitchen and set about searching for his nicotine patches. Taking the box, he went to sit in front of the cold fireplace. Slapping on a flesh coloured patch, he stared into the blackness of the unlit hole in the wall, thinking over everything that had happed, her reactions to it all, and what she herself had told him.

He didn't know how long he sat in his contemplative, meditative state, but he was brought out of it at a sudden sound on the stairs, heading towards him. Turning his head to see who had interrupted him, he saw a sleepy Rose go to the kitchen.

He frowned at the sight of her; something wasn't right. Her hair was dishevelled, her pyjamas wrinkled. Her feet were bare as they padded in an automatic way over to a cupboard, her hands shaking slightly as she reached for a glass. She scarcely made a sound, apart from the running of the tap, as she leant over the sink, drinking heavily.

In her shaky and sleepy state, she hadn't noticed him in the armchair and so he carried on watching her as he thought about why she would be awake at this hour. _Surely regular people need more sleep than what she had gotten, _he thought absently.

As she turned towards the stairs again, glass holding only an inch of water left in it, Sherlock caught a glimpse of her face. The empty look in her eyes unnerved him; which only served to unnerve him more. He didn't get unsettled by a lot, but the empty look in those dark blue eyes that were so usually full of life had done it.

He felt a strangeness in the pit of his stomach and he wondered what it was. After a few seconds he realised what it was, and the conclusion shocked him more than anything else had in the past few days.

He was _worried_.

_Him. _Sherlock Holmes; who had been told by many a person that he was heartless, that he didn't care. He even admitted to a room full of people, to John and Rose, that he was a sociopath. He had accepted long ago that he wouldn't have friends and had always tried to not be hindered by useless emotions, worry being one of them.

But as he heard a loud smash come from the young woman's room, the feeling only increased, and his mind recalled his musings in the museum. Quicker than he had identified his unusual feeling of worry, he knew what had happened.

She had finally snapped.

When he told John his idea, his doctor friend had said that it was a brilliant idea, but the detective should give her some time before suggesting it to her. Sherlock had asked why, not understanding what John meant. Seeing his friend's confusion, John had explained that she hadn't properly dealt with all that had happened, and that she may be a little unpredictable for the next few days. Sherlock had shrugged off the warning, saying that she could handle it. Now the detective wasn't so sure.

He contemplated going to see if she was alright, but as he heard the quiet sobs coming from downstairs, he though better of it. One crying woman was too much for Sherlock to deal with for one day, never mind two.

With that thought, he sighed and headed to his bedroom, putting the weeping woman out of his mind, thinking about what they would do tomorrow.

But it the back of his mind and in his gut, the worry still squirmed, and silently he hoped the woman would be alright in the end, but he would never admit it; not even to himself.

On instinct, she fell completely silent at the sound of foot falls on the floor above her; she couldn't risk being caught in her state at the moment. Pulling herself together, she got up off the cold floor, the draft having chilled her substantially, and made her way back to her bed.

She would deal with the glass on the other side of the room tomorrow, but as she lay shivering under her sheets, the emotions snuck up on her again and she cried herself to sleep.

When she got up the next morning her emotions were under control once again but she was still feeling pretty down. She went for a shower - her wounds stinging painfully - re-dressed her arm and wrists, leaving the one on her cheek. Her neck ached painfully, but she took a couple of paracetamol and knew she would be fine for the day.

She flat out refused to go running about that day, so decided to just get some house work done. Dressed in a black t-shirt and her regular jeans and trainers, her wrist felt empty without her old bandana. Sighing, she went up stairs with the plan of doing some shopping, then cooking a decent meal for her and her two flatmates, possibly doing a bit of cleaning at some point to top it off.

However, looking around, she found the flat was empty, but she did see a knife sticking straight up in the desk and smiled slightly at Sherlock's madness. Walking over to remove it, she found it was actually holding a note in place.

_Rose,_

_Gone to the bank to sort everything out, thought we'd let you sleep._

_Sarah's fine, just a little tired, took her home this morning._

_Be home about two-ish I think, if all goes to plan._

_Hope you slept well,_

_John_

She smiled at his caring thoughts, then folded the letter, putting it in her pocket for safe keeping. Looking up at the clock, she saw it was almost ten, and that they would be a while yet.

Not wanting to be reminded of recent events just yet, she put the thoughts aside again, picking up her shopping list and heading for the door.

Three quarters of an hour later, she put several shopping bags on the table - still clear of its usual contents - and started packing away the shopping. After she was done, she took out some vegetables, cutting them up and putting them in a pan for later. She also took out and prepared a chicken for the men, and a small quorn pie for herself. She had planned a full blown cooked meal for the three of them when the guys came home; she hadn't cooked in a while, but didn't see the point in cooking for one.

Seeing she was done with the food for now, she went to the living room to start packing up all the books they had left about from the other day. She was done with that soon though and looked around, observing her work. She smiled a sad half smile, but her eye caught the graffiti on the windows; she glared with determination at the offending paint.

She turned, lighting a cigarette on her way and went to find a bucket and a cloth. Five minutes later she found what she was looking for and filled the lime green, plastic bucket half full with warm water, adding what she hoped was a little bleach - and not one of Sherlock's experiments that were starting to seem like bad practical jokes - to the mix. Picking up the bucket and a cloth she had found, she went to the living room.

She put on her mp3 player, putting on 3OH3's "I'm not the one" and dunked the cloth into the luke warm liquid, singing along to the lyrics softly, setting to work.

"_You're way too young to be broken,_

_You're way too young to fall apart._

_Your way too young to play these games_

_But you better start,_

_But you better start…"_

John got out of the cab, and went to open the door, Sherlock having paid the fair. As he opened the door however, he was hit with the mouth-watering smell of a roast dinner. Frowning, he stepped forward, holding out his keys in his hand to put them on the table in the hall, only to find something was on it.

It was a flat, square, dark box, a little bit bigger than half a sheet of A4 paper. On the top was a yellow post it note with one word written in a flowing writing. _Rose. _Frowning he picked up the package and showed it to Sherlock silently. The detectives sharp eye scanned the word carefully, but didn't recognise the handwriting. _Feminine, but not written with any emotion, _he thought, wondering who it could be from.

He was about to reach up a hand to take the box for further inspection when a voice came floating down the stairs, catching the attention of the curious men. They listened a little harder.

"_Officer, officer, tell me the truth._

_How many times can I get in trouble with you?_

_Before they lock me up for all the bad things that I do_

_But you don't, and that's why this feels like déjà vu."_

John and Sherlock looked at each other, Sherlock giving the man a raised eyebrow, clearly saying, _what is going on? _John just shrugged and carefully climbed the stairs, wondering the same.

Sherlock followed his friend, not knowing what he would find, and certainly not expecting what they did find.

Walking into the living room, the smell of food getting stronger, the men found that all the books were in boxes again, and that the paint was off the windows. Things had been straightened out and the place generally looked cleaner.

Looking into the kitchen to see if it had gotten the same treatment, they found Rose, headphones in, humming to a tune they couldn't hear, back to them, stirring something in a pan that was boiling on the stove, moving slightly to a beat that seemed to match the young woman's humming.

Checking on the broccoli and cauliflower mix in the pan, she stirred it a few times. Her music had changed substantially from the slower and sadder lyrics to more upbeat and happy songs, taking her mood with it. She had always found that music cheered her up whenever she needed it.

Turning to take the meat out of the oven she found a confused looking Sherlock and a very amused looking John. She jumped in the air at the surprise, not having heard them come home through the loud music.

Taking out her headphones, she turned off her music. "Christ, guys!" She jokingly scolded them. "Give a girl a heart attack, why don't you?" John just chuckled, Sherlock going to sit at the desk in the living room. "I'm making lunch, if you want some." She offered, knowing at least John would accept the offer of food.

"Smells good!" He said, as predicted.

"Not hungry." Stated Sherlock in the next room, also as predicted.

"Sherlock?" She called in a light voice, positive in her skill to get anyone to eat. "You haven't eaten today. You didn't eat yesterday. And I doubt you ate the day before that." He pulled a face and she knew she was right. "You're eating your lunch." Her tone left no room for argument and he knew it too; so he just grumbled, opening John's laptop.

John put the kettle on and turned to Rose again. "You did a good job straightening out the place, by the way." He said.

"Really?" She had not been expecting the praise, but welcomed it all the same. He just nodded and she grinned brightly. She then noticed the package on the table, not reading the note though. "What's that?"

"Oh!" Said John, forgetting about the strange parcel at the thought of the delicious smelling food. "We found it on the table in the hall. It's for you."

Her eyebrows raised in curiosity. "I wonder what it is…"

"Why don't you open it?" Suggested Sherlock, also curious to see what it was, but trying to hide it.

She smirked. "I will later, lunch is ready." With that she dished up the food and they all sat down. Rose got compliments on the "amazing grub" from John, and Sherlock said nothing. He ate it quickly though and finished before either of them had gotten half way through their meal. Rose looked up to see him frowning slightly at his empty plate and held back a smile. "There's more on the side if you want it, Sherlock." Without hesitation the man got up and dished himself another large plate of food. John and Rose just shared a knowing look.

Sherlock however used his time getting back to the table to think about how to go about telling rose his idea. Sitting back down he looked at John, flicked his gaze over to Rose and looked back to the doctor, raising an eyebrow. John caught the look and replied with his own glance down with his eyebrows raised. _Your funeral_, he was saying and the detective just rolled his eyes at the man.

"Rose, I had and idea I wanted to talk to you about." He started, and Rose looked up. She knew that if he had an idea, it would be more likely that he would go to John than her, and she hadn't missed the silent conversation. It made her both curious and wary. _He's up to something again._

"Go on." She said, listening carefully and watching his every move. He saw this and smiled internally; _she's learning._

"Well, your looking for a job, and I've been thinking of getting an assistant of sorts." He explained.

Her eyes widened as she heard what he was saying. "What about John?" She said looking to the man in confusion. "Surely if anyone-"

She was cut off though, by the man himself. "John has a job at the clinic and can't always be here to look after this idiot." Earning himself a light glare from said idiot. "Besides, I'm not half as observant as you are." Rose blushed slightly at the compliment and smiled at him.

"And John can help on any case he wants if he gets bored." Said Sherlock, earning a grin from John.

"Of course." Grinned the doctor.

Rose took a bit of food, thinking on what it would mean to officially work with the consulting detective. "Alright, say I were to accept your offer - just hypothetically, I'll need to think about it first - but say I were to accept it. What would that mean?" She asked, wanting to know exactly what he was offereing.

"You come with me to consulting sessions, sometimes go in my place. If you want a case, but it's a boring one, you can work it yourself. If we get given one cheque for the work, we split it evenly." He looked her in the eye to enounciate his last point the most. "It will be dangerous, no doubt about that. But it will never be boring." "He half smiled, slyly.

Looking at the young woman across from him, saw the spark in her eyes at a challenge, at something _interesting. _He knew then and there, it may take her a bit of time, but she would accept. But he also saw the hint of the shadow he saw in her eyes from the night before.

"Fifty, fifty split is a bit unfair, we both know your better, and I would just be an assisstant." She said, modestly in Johns opinion.

"What do I need the money for? I only spend it on cab fair, nicotine patches and the odd bribe. You keep buying the food anyway." He said bluntly, a flicker of a shine in his cold eyes. Both him and John knew that she wouldn't be just an assisstant.

"Alright." She said with a ghost of a smile. "Can I get back to you tomorrow? I still want to think it through properly."

"Of course, take your time. I wont be looking for a case for a day or two anyway." She just chuckled at his reply and the three friends carried on eating.

After they were done, John went to relax with a book, Sherlock went to the sofa, laying back and assuming his thinking position. Rose cleaned and put away the dishes and sat at the table, pulling the package towards her, curiosity showing again.

Pulling off the sticky note, she looked at the handwriting. It looked like Ethel's - loopy and quite old fashioned - but there was something odd about it. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she knew it wasn't her friends. Frowning, she opened the box, taking off the lid.

Inside the box was a folded piece of paper, placed on top of a what looked to be folded fabric. She reached out a hand and looked at the paper itself, not unfolding it just yet. The paper was heavy and felt expensive, but it hand a feel to it that just said standard. _So it was from a well off person, using expensive paper, but uses said paper practically everyday, _she deduced.

_Oh, god! _She thought suddenly_, I'm starting to sound like Sherlock!_

Shaking her head from such weird thoughts, she opened the note and read the words writing in black ink.

_Thought you may want a replacement, my dear._

_MH_

She pursed her lips at his calling her dear again, though she had to admit it was loosing its touch. She was getting use to it now. But she frowned at the words themselves, _replace what?_

She looked back to the box and recognised the design on the material. Eyes widening, she pulled out one large square that had been folded to a quarter of it's size.

It was a bandana; the same, basic, common design as her old one, but instead of white lines of the black backing, the white was replaced with a midnight blue.

The thought of replacing her old one hurt her - it had been one of the few gifts she had from her older brother - but the thought behind the one in her hands was more than any words could have comforted her on the situation. It wasn't expensive or in anyway unique as far as she knew; and that's what made it so special to her.

As a watery smile crept onto her face, John got up from his chair and went to make himself a cuppa, but found Rose sat at the table, a lone tear steadily running down her face, both eyes closed.

"Rose?" He asked gently. Sherlock heard the tone in his voice and looked up, watching the people in the kitchen. "Are you alright?"

Rose looked up at him, opening her eyes. She saw the concern in them and knew instantly what she would do. She had been debating leaving, as she had many a time, but she knew now, undoubtedly that she couldn't. Upon realising it, she secretly knew she never could have done it. "I will be."

With those words, she got up from her seat, wiped away her lone tear and walked into the living room, marching right up to where Sherlock was now sitting up, wondering what she was doing. She came to a stop in front of him, holding out her right hand in between them.

"When do I start?"


End file.
